Martyn Vaughan - The Cave of Shadows

Jon tried to control his growing irritation. ‘The Gate of Light. What is it?’

The Chairman threw up his hands and glanced briefly at his companions.

‘There you go again. Jon, if you are deemed worthy you will pass through the Gate of Light and meet your destiny. But this is not the time to contemplate that momentous day.’

‘Why not?’

The Chairman leaned forward very slightly and when he spoke again his voice had hardened.

‘Jon, precisely who do you think you are? You’ve fought your way out of a hostile environment and climbed a hill. Every man here has done exactly the same thing. What do you think makes you special? Come on – let’s have it!’

Jon sat in silence with four pairs of eyes boring into him. Special. But strange to tell he did think he was special. From the moment the great doubt had arisen in his mind he had felt that he had been marked out for something – something he knew not what.

‘Is it delusional to feel that there are mysteries that need to be solved?’ he finally said, not knowing where this vocabulary was coming from, ‘To wonder what the purpose of this existence is?’

The Chairman rose. ‘There are indeed mysteries. And they will be solved – but if you persist in this arrogance and impertinence they will not be solved by you.’

He turned to his silent fellow Councilmembers.

‘Go.’

And with that, he raised both hands and looked up at some unseen thing in the ceiling.

‘Now.’

And instantly a great, sonorous voice filled the room. A deep, strong voice with a timbre like rocks grinding together; a voice full of masculine power and confidence.

‘Jon, I have been watching you. I like what I see. I like your speed, your power, your fortitude. It is indeed possible that one day you will sit at my right hand. But that time is not yet.

‘Beware. I like the arrogance of ability, of puissance. But do not overreach yourself or you may yet learn fear when you see the approach of my fatal scimitar.’

Despite himself Jon was cowed. The voice had hit him like a physical blow, a great thrusting comber of solid sound breaking over him. It had taken all his will to avoid being tossed aside by it. What kind of being could speak in such a fashion?

He was only dimly aware that the Chairman had stopped glaring at him and vaguely saw him nod to someone behind Jon. Jarz came from behind him and, taking his arm, said gently, as if to a frightened child: ‘Come on Jon. That’s enough for today I think.’

Jon was aware that Jarz was leading him back out into the skyshine; aware that the people in the streets were staring at him with concern in their faces instead of the usual pleasure. His self-awareness gradually came back as Jarz helped him along the street as if he were an invalid.

‘Where are you taking me?’ he muttered at last.

Jarz laughed. ‘No need to worry Jon. I’m not taking you anywhere – except your home.’

True to his word, Jarz brought him into the house and tried to get him to lie on the bed but Jon refused.

‘I don’t like that thing’ he managed to mumble.

Jarz nodded with the gentle concern of a parent. ‘Of course. I’ll leave you until tomorrow. I hope the next time we meet it’ll be a little less tense now you’ve seen we’re only here to help you.’

Jon did not watch him go; he simply wanted to be alone to think about what had happened. He had wanted something out of the routine to occur and his wish had been granted. But what had it meant? Who was the owner of that awful and awe-inspiring voice? And the warning – what was he being warned about?

And there was something else, something the voice had said, a phrase he remembered from somewhere, some other time. He shook his head. He could not bring the thing into his conscious mind.

He did little for the rest of the time of light. His evening meal appeared. Never had he seen it appear before his eyes or seen some low-status lackey bringing it in. He would turn away for a moment and when he turned back – there it would be. At exactly the right temperature and with the normal satisfying mix of textures and flavours. It was a wonder of course, but there were many wonders here. He didn’t know how mirrors worked, for example – perhaps meals that appeared when no one was looking was a wonder of the same type. In this particular case, it was something to be accepted and not questioned. He definitely didn’t want to go back to hunting kabarras.

He sat moodily in the chair by the table, morosely forking portions into his mouth of the rich brown substance he had encountered on his first day when he heard a slight movement at the doorway.

He leapt up and this time he was quick enough to see someone disappearing into the purple twilight. He looked down at the boundary between his dwelling and the outside world and, sure enough, there was another message lying there.

It read: “At first dayshine meet me at the twelfth house to your right.”

With what felt remarkably like nervous anticipation Jon strode down the street. It would not be far to the designated meeting place and for some reason he didn’t want to get there too quickly. He stopped and looked up. There shining softly and completely silently above him was the enigmatic pillar of light which from the start had marked out this hill as being unlike any other. Previous question-and-few-answer sessions with the locals had confirmed that this was indeed the fabled “Gate of Light.” But what was it?

He remained still, staring at it until his neck began to ache. But the more he stared, the less he seemed to understand it. It was not solid, it was not smoke, it was not a collection of glowing particles caught in a great up draught. It was – just light. But an eerie, unknown light; a light which cast no shadows and altered when viewed with even a minute change in the angle of vision; sometimes soft and soothing; sometimes hard and harsh, with rays that struck like little needles flowing into the eyes. It sprang, as far as could be determined from below, from the bare rock of the summit but had no visible terminus, simply stretching up and up and up into invisibility, until the gaze was defeated by its vastness and returned to the surface. Nothing was visible within it or beyond it. It simply – was .

Jon gave up and continued to meet his mysterious confidant. He arrived at the designated house and was surprised to see that the door was shut. This was unusual in itself – doors were never shut in the village. The weather never changed and the people had no secrets, so why was this door shut? Having no experience of shut doors he hesitated in front of it, not sure what he was supposed to do. Then it opened and in the shadow a figure beckoned him in.

He followed it in, into a room very much like his own. The figure turned to face him and Jon had another electric shock that flashed down his spine.

He was looking at himself.

Well, not quite himself. What could be seen of the torso showed that it had none of the white, crisscrossing lines that the Lords of the Sands had left him. The face, too, was not quite the same. A little plumper in the cheeks perhaps, a few more lines in the forehead, perhaps. However, it was uncannily like the experience he had had with the mirror.

The figure spoke. ‘I am Jon11 and you are Jon21.’

‘I prefer just “Jon”.’

The other smiled faintly. ‘I understand that. I prefer just “Jon” as well. Take a seat.’

Jon did so, wondering if his voice really did sound like that. The other also seated himself and sat facing him, but not too close.

The stranger said after a short pause, ‘I expect you’re wondering what this is all about.’

‘That’s about right,’ was Jon’s dry reply.