Preston Child - The Fountain of Youth

Heri tried to peek by craning his neck to use the mirror, but he was unsuccessful. His cousin’s wary expression upon seeing the picture concerned him, but he had to watch the road and contain his curiosity until the impending discussion would reveal the subject.

“Where did you take this?” Gunnar asked Sam without looking up.

“Hov,” Sam replied without thinking, picking the first town that came to mind.

Gunnar stung Sam with a dirty look. “Don’t insult our intelligence, Mr. Cleave. This stone circle is not in Hov. It is at Hvalba.”

That was just what Sam wanted to hear. Gunnar realized only afterwards that Sam was testing him, but it was too late to deny its existence. “So you do know about this place? What do you make of the colors hovering over it?”

“I’m not some fancy scientist, Scotsman. How should I know?” Gunnar asked.

“Because you were there before,” Sam reminded him. “Move on to the next image on the phone.”

Johild took the liberty of helping her father by swiping to the next picture. It was a black and white image, a newspaper cutout from 1969 reporting on a fishing expedition Gunnar and his brother had been on when they’d uncovered the ruin, since then affectionately called the ‘Empty Hourglass’.

“What’s this?” Johild scowled as she scanned through the article and checked the publication date at the bottom of the article. Astonished, she looked up at her father. He had no words, no explanations. All he did was shake his head, hoping that she’d abandon any enquiry. “What is this, Papa?” Johild insisted with a hoarse panic in her voice. What frightened her, what she was demanding an explanation for was the fact that her father still looked exactly the same.

“What’s going on?” Heri asked, not having seen either of the images.

“A photograph from 1969 proves that old Gunnar here has not aged a day since he discovered the Empty Hourglass along with his brother,” Sam disclosed. Heri scoffed and snickered at the obvious ridiculousness, but at the looks on his family members’ faces he ceased his laughing.

“Wait. Really?” Heri asked Sam, who nodded affirmatively. “How is that possible?”

“Is this what those so-called tourists came after in 1985, Papa?” Johild asked firmly. “Because I remember them asking about the circles when I was twelve years old.”

“They were just tourists,” he told his daughter.

“Is that why their people killed my uncle in 1969? Because he was a bad tour guide?” she shouted, furious that she’d been deceived all this time.

“Watch your tone, Jo,” her father warned, but he knew that she had every right to act this way. Furious at being busted, Gunnar raged at Sam. “Are you happy now, Scotsman? You’ve been aware of this all this time. Is this why you came here? To break up my family!”

“I’m not the one who lied to my daughter, Gunnar. Your family had nothing to do with my trip here or with the pictures I took. That picture of you and Jon? I discovered it last night while I was doing background research on Johild here,” Sam admitted, regardless of the possibility that he could ignite her hate for him again.

“What?” she frowned, now directing her exasperation at Sam.

“I thought you were… interesting . I wanted to know more about you.” Sam ignored Heri’s smirk and retrieved his phone from Johild. At first she was hesitant to return it to him for his insolence, but eventually let him take the phone back.

“Don’t worry. There are no pictures of your secrets on my cell,” Sam reassured her.

“I know,” she snapped. “I have nothing to hide. Not from you,” she glared at her father, “or from you.”

“Maybe it’s better if we go there then, hey Sam? To that circle of stones that I’ve never heard of either.” Heri was hoping his uncle would catch his drift. “It’s less than an hour’s drive.”

Gunnar sank his head.

For many years that made up diminutive lifetimes, he had kept the true reason for his brother’s death a secret. He’d bottled up the gruesome incident, not to mention the arcane powers of the two circles that formed the shape of an hourglass, overlapping briefly at a small, singular point from where the alien light source would emerge in exquisite colors.

Johild was in a state of disbelief. She wanted to give Gunnar the silent treatment that worked so well for her mother, but she was not like her mother. She was not as docile as her mother. No, she wanted answers, and she was not afraid to address issues that scratched at her feelings. She looked at Gunnar.

“Papa, I want to know who those people were and why they killed Uncle Jon over a bloody Second World War station!” she said sharply, but without rudeness in her tone.

His weary eyes refused to look at her, but he lowered his voice, recoiling from the fight he’d started earlier in the day. Gunnar was outnumbered by three younger, inquisitive, and fiery personalities and perhaps it was time to come clean to the next generation. It would be better that way. He was tired of remembering and if he told the story he might finally be unburdened from it.

“In 1969 Jon and I went fishing, looking more variety of marine breeding grounds at Hvalba than we could find near our home at Sandvik. I mean, we had children and wives to take care of and wanted to expand our sea haunts,” Gunnar told his eager audience. “We took the tunnel that was made that year and packed all the gear we might need for a few days out in the elements. It was summer, so there were no real serious exposure issues to worry about.”

“You took a tunnel?” Sam asked. He was thoroughly confused, but Heri explained nonchalantly that there were two tunnels on the island. One reached from Sandvik, which was primarily a coal mining town, to Hvalba.

“Then there was another one built in ’62 that leads south toward Trongisvágur from Hvalba. Those are the tunnels my uncle is referring to,” he told Sam proudly. The journalist was impressed. “I thought you meant like an underground tunnel or shaft structure,” he smiled sheepishly.

“No, pal, those are the two we have. Official tunnels. Nothing as primitive as you’re imagining.” Heri chuckled as the vehicle sped up under them. He wanted to see the Empty Hourglass for himself, whether old Gunnar’s story made sense or not.

Gunnar shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat. “Heri, there are actually three tunnels on the islands.”

“I don’t think so, Uncle!” Heri argued. “I know my homeland better than the rivers that run across it. I’ve never heard of a third. Sorry.”

Calmly Gunnar replied, “Until a moment ago you also did not know about the stone circles either. The people who know about this place you can count on your ten fingers, my boy.”

Johild looked at her father. Her face displayed something halfway past anger and heading toward fascination. “How old are you, Papa?”

“I was thirty-nine in that picture,” he revealed reluctantly.

The three young people around the troubled old man silently competed to work out his current age first. Heri won.

“Eighty-five?” he gasped. “You mean to tell me my uncle Gunnar is not sixty-three years old, but eighty … five? ”

“Jesus Christ!” Sam exclaimed involuntarily. “I’m going to have to get a lot more video on you, Gunnar.”

“You will do no such thing, Scotsman!” Gunnar roared. “What did I say about exploiting our special places? Our secrets belong to our children. Don’t make me drown you in Eldvatn and throw your snooping Scottish ass from a cliff on Hvalbiareidi, because I swear to God I will!”

“Alright, alright!” Sam retreated. “Sorry. Just a reflex. It comes with the job. I’ll keep my lens cap on! Relax. You have to understand that this is unbelievable. I thought Heri looked young, but you ,” Sam chuckled in awe, “you take the cake!”