The Meq (56 page)

“There’s a good spot, a better’n farther on, there is,” a voice said matter-of-factly from somewhere behind us. “But this is a good one too, it is.”

Geaxi and I turned to find Tillman Fadle leaning on a walking stick. He was wearing a huge black slicker and he looked seven feet tall. We weren’t listening for him, but neither Geaxi nor I was aware of him standing there. It was unusual.

“It is a big sky, it is,” he said.

“Yes, it is,” Geaxi said and waited.

He stared at the sky a full minute before he addressed us again. “The big sky, the big picture,” he said enigmatically. “Same thing, though . . all of it . . . same thing.”

“Do you often come here?” I asked him.

“Oh, most certainly, sir, as often as I can.” He took a step or two toward us, and as he did, he turned his head and spat in the darkness. “You know, sir,” he said, “I think there’s a young fella took a snapshot of the big picture.”

“What do you mean ‘a snapshot’?” I asked.

“They’ll be provin’ it ’fore long.” He spat again in the dark and reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t recall who. “You wait and see,” he went on. “The ancients knew it, knew it, they did. Couldn’t prove it, though, couldn’t prove it. Won’t be long, sir, you wait and see,” he said. “This Einstein fella is on the track.”

“On the track of what?” Geaxi asked.

Tillman looked up in the direction of the constellation Orion, then tilted his head to the side and peered out of the corner of his eye. He held his thumb and forefinger in front of him and peered through the space between them. He spat one last time and I remembered who he reminded me of—PoPo.

“That,” he said. “He’s after that.”

“What?” I asked.

“What gets through the cracks,” he said.

“You mean the light?” Geaxi asked.

“I mean that what turns
on
the light,” Tillman said and I think he smiled, but it was too dark to be sure.

Just then, we heard the sound of a car in the distance. It was coming toward Caitlin’s Ruby and it was not one of Daphne’s vehicles, I could tell from the constant backfiring of the engine. I turned and raised Kepa’s telescope in the direction of the sound, but there was nothing to see, no headlights, nothing.

“That’d be Cap’n Uld,” Tillman said. “Norwegian man . . . owns a few boats in the Scillys . . . owns the Falcon. He won’t drive a motor car with headlights . . . same as at sea . . . won’t have ’em, won’t use ’em.”

“Is he coming here?” Geaxi asked.

“Yes, I’d say he was, yes.”

“Did you say the Falcon?” I asked him, remembering something Willie had said.

“Yes, the Falcon . . . in Penzance, it is.”

“Would Mowsel be with him?”

“Yes, most likely. Comes and goes that way, he does, with Cap’n Uld.”

Geaxi and I glanced at each other and knew in an instant there would almost certainly be another passenger, another boy who came and went that way—Sailor.

I closed the telescope and Geaxi said we’d better go, then I turned back to Tillman leaning on his walking stick in the dark.

“What was that fella’s name again?” I asked. “The one looking for what turns on the light?”

“Einstein,” he said. “Albert Einstein.”

“Where is he looking?”

“Up there,” he said and looked at the sky, but pointed his finger to his head. “Up there and in here,” he added and smiled again, I think.

“It was a pleasure talking to you, sir,” I told him.

“And you, sir,” Tillman Fadle said. “And you.”

Geaxi led the way back without a word and we were there in no time. She was as swift as I’d ever seen her and only paused when we reached the gravel drive. Coming from the direction of the house, we could both hear the strain of Daphne trying to sing, accompanied by an accordion. She was singing “Auld Lang Syne” and there wasn’t a cat within fifty yards of the house.

Sailor was standing outside the house, on the drive next to the car with no headlights. He was standing in a swirling, rising cloud of exhaust from the car. I couldn’t see Mowsel, but Cap’n Uld was behind the wheel with one arm out of the window. He was smoking a pipe and didn’t seem to be getting in or out. Then a door slammed on the opposite side of the car and Cap’n Uld put the car in gear and lurched forward, driving away in the darkness.

We slowed to a walk and Sailor turned to greet us. Mowsel had his back to us and was walking toward the house and Daphne’s voice.

We stopped not three feet from Sailor. The cloud of exhaust had blown away and he was standing with his legs spread and his hands on his hips. It was then that I felt something I had not felt for so long I’d forgotten it; an inner warning and presence of fear—the net descending. It was powerful and tangible. I’d noticed it and felt it increase the closer we got to Sailor.

“Come with me,” he barked. “We must not wait. Geaxi, can you find Lullyon in the dark?”

“Of course,” Geaxi said.

“Lullyon?” I asked. “You mean ‘the slabs’? Now?”

“I mean we must not wait,” Sailor said. His breath became steam in the cold air. He took a step closer and stared hard in my eyes. His “ghost eye” was milky and bloodshot. “We must not wait, Zianno. Believe me.”

“Sailor,” Geaxi said. “There is something I think—”

“Not now, Geaxi!” Sailor screamed. I had never heard him raise his voice to that level, even in China. Slowly, with dark emphasis on each word, he said, “This . . . involves . . . us . . . all.” The night itself could have cracked, it was so brittle and silent, then Sailor whispered, “Please, Geaxi, do this. Take Zianno and I will bring Opari.”

Perhaps it was the shock of hearing him speak to her like that or perhaps it was some other knowledge of him that only she possessed. I do know Eder had called her his “dark” companion and I do know what she was trying to tell him. She was trying to tell him that his only sister, Eder, had passed. Whatever it was that stopped her, it stopped her. Geaxi turned to me without a glance at Sailor and said, “This way, Zezen.”

I’d been to “the slabs” once before, but not at night. Opari had taken me on a cold day with the wind coming straight off the North Atlantic. It was a long walk filled with switchbacks and false crossings—a path that I thought had to be seen to be followed. But that was me, not Geaxi.

From a distance, Lullyon Coit, or “the slab,” looked like the “stone boys” I’d seen the shepherds leave on the farthest reaches of Kepa’s land. They were a form of signpost or station for the Basque, both personal and professional. They were unique and each possessed a kind of power, a power of place and intelligence. Lullyon Coit possessed a similar power, only it was much older and much larger. The stones weren’t picked from a field, they were quarried and lifted, cut, arranged, and designed. There were four of them—three great slabs of granite standing upright in a triangular configuration and the fourth lying on top of the other three. The whole structure seemed to be pointing in a westerly direction. Ancient shelter? Burial site? Who knows? Caitlin never said what she believed, but leading away from Lullyon Coit, out of brick and stone and beaten earth, she left six different paths to get there.

In the dark, without ever taking a false step or a wrong turn, Geaxi and I arrived by one of them. The entire way, she never said a word.

The wind gusted and seemed to change direction at will. We were on the highest point of Caitlin’s Ruby and there were no trees or even brush around “the slabs.” They stood tall, black, and silent as they had for thousands of years in this place, in these exact positions. There was only starlight overhead. Orion was low and close to the horizon and Venus was far to the west.

While we waited, Geaxi paced and I sat against the base of one of the stones. Geaxi wore boots, a jacket, and her beret. I wore boots and a jacket, but my head was bare. The wind was relentless and neither of us was prepared to be where we were.

“Why does he want us here, now?” I asked. “Especially here in this place?”

Geaxi never stopped pacing. “The ‘now’ disturbs me,” she began. “The ‘here’ is because this place will have great meaning during the time of the Gogorati, the Remembering. We are certain of this, but we are not certain why. Sailor has always wanted this place to be the first place where all five Stones come together. He thinks . . . no, he is certain we will learn something.”

“What?”

“We will find out.”

“What about Eder? When will you tell him?”

“Later. Something is wrong, I am most certain of that.” She stopped pacing for a moment and looked at me. “We should find this out first, no?”

“Yes,” I said. I knew she was right. Sailor was more upset than I’d ever seen him and our news would only make it worse. The wind blew and I thought how long it might take them to climb the path, then I thought about where I’d last seen Opari, then I thought about where I’d last seen Nova. If Sailor walked in and saw Nova, then . . .

“There they are,” Geaxi said. “I can feel them.”

Sailor came out of the darkness first and Opari was immediately behind him, wearing a full cape and hood. Neither had made a sound. Opari walked over and knelt beside me. She smiled, but remained silent. I looked around for anyone else and there was no one. In the small space inside “the slabs” there was only Geaxi, Sailor, Opari, and me.

Sailor spoke almost at once, but he was hesitating, something I’d never heard him do.

“There has been a terrible . . . a multiple . . . an unexplainable tragedy, I am afraid . . . with possible consequences. I am not sure where to begin.”

“Then begin with Pello,” I said. We hadn’t heard from him since he’d left with Pello.

“I could begin there, Zianno, but the . . . tragedy does not. No, not there . . .” Sailor trailed off a moment, then looked at Opari and back to me. “And the consequences . . . the consequences may affect you directly, Zianno. Believe me.”

“But—”

“Let me go on, please. I do not know what to make of this. It . . . it could mean . . . no, I am not sure what it could mean. That is why I wanted us all together—now, here, all five Stones together at last, in this place . . . to find out the meaning . . .” He didn’t finish and began pacing.

“What has happened, Umla-Meq?” Opari asked in an even voice, a voice aware of Sailor’s fear. “Tell us what you know.”

“What do you mean ‘all five Stones’?” Geaxi interrupted. “I do not see Unai. There are only four of us present. Is he—”

“No,” Sailor said suddenly. “No, he is not dead. He is . . . in another state.”

“Another state?” I asked. “What does that mean?”

“Please,” Opari said to all of us at once. “Let Umla-Meq speak. He says there has been a tragedy. We are all . . . we are all Meq, first, last, and for all in between . . . we must remember this and listen, because in the end there will be no one else, no one. You Zianno, my love, you are too young to know this, and you Geaxi, you know a great deal, more than anyone, perhaps, but you too are young. You, both of you, do not yet know of . . . consequences. Now, please, let Sailor tell us what he knows.”

“This is what I know,” Sailor said. He continued to pace in a lopsided figure of eight pattern and spoke as if he’d thought it over many, many times and distilled it into a few drops of information that still would not break down and yield anything that made any sense. “I know Unai and Usoa crossed in the Zeharkatu several years ago. They came to Trumoi-Meq to help them do it, in the old way, and they went into the Pyrenees, where it was done. It was done and their blood became like Giza. They conceived a child not more than a year ago and moved to the Balearic Islands, awaiting the birth. There is a fishing village on the coast of Menorca that Unai wanted their child to experience in the years before the Itxaron, and learn the life there. The war in Europe had not affected this village in any manner. It was a good place, a safe place . . . a good choice.”

Opari took my hand in hers and held it tighter than usual. Sailor went on.

“Now Pello comes to Mowsel with disturbing news, at the very moment we are leaving Africa, he comes with news that Trumoi-Meq has never heard before, news that . . .” Sailor stopped pacing and turned his back to all of us. “Pello told Trumoi-Meq . . . that the child of Unai and Usoa . . . had died of influenza.”

Opari began a low, rumbling growl that climbed octave after octave until it became a high, whining trill. Geaxi joined her, like another dog or wolf, and added a clicking sound with her tongue against her teeth. It was frightening. I looked at Sailor and he stood where he was, staring away in silence. For a moment, I thought the slab of granite over our heads had moved. I stretched my hand out and touched the stone behind me. It was cold and solid. My heart was racing and my thoughts tumbled and slipped. I had missed something. What was it? I couldn’t grab hold of it. I took a step out of the enclosure and looked up at the sky. I focused on one star and then another, and then the space between them, which became another star, and another. I turned back inside and almost fell on Sailor. My voice felt disconnected.

“Will Usoa not be able to have another child?” I asked.

“No, beloved, no,” Opari said. “Do you not see? Do you not see the truth . . . the consequence?”

Then, like a crack between the light, Sailor’s meaning came to me and took my breath away. I said it out loud and Opari shed a tear with each word. It was so simple and yet, for all these millennia, it was the only true thing that separated us from all others. “Meq . . . babies . . . do not die.”