Evadeen Brickwood - The Speaking Stone of Caradoc

“Miami come in. Mayday!” the captain bellowed into the radio. “Mayday!”

Static answered. A hissing sound, which did not come from the equipment, had strangely risen and ebbed. None of the instruments worked from the onset of the turbulence, yet they hadn’t plunged into the sea. The Cessna seemed to simply glide as high winds were pulling and tugging at the wings. Now the lightening and swirling dark clouds morphed into heavy fog. A thick, dark fog. The tugging stopped. Well, they were still in the air, weren’t they? But where?

“Betsy, keep them calm. Let them have champagne or whatever they want, just keep them calm,” he had told Betsy Fuller the flight attendant. Betsy had set her mouth in determination and went to work. She was a feisty woman with her black hair in a tight bun under the pert stewardess cap. This would not be her last flight, if she had anything to do with it. Jamal and Jerome, her three-year-old twins, back home in St. Petersburg needed their mother.

“Here is your Bloody Mary, sir.” Betsy Fuller put the red cocktail down on the folding table.

Lafayette Thomas, a civil engineer from Ohio, seemed to be asleep with his head leaning against the window. She left him alone. A British historian, Dr. Peter Spencer, and his son Scott sat rigidly upright, their faces chalky white.

The other passengers sat still staring ahead of them in anticipation of the inevitable crash. No need yet for oxygen masks, but the passengers were wearing their yellow life jackets. Betsy Fuller, efficient even in the face of danger, had made sure of that.

“Champagne, sir?”

“Champagne? Is there something wrong? How much longer do we have to endure this?” Dr. Spencer asked timidly.

“Sir, it will be over sooner than you think.”

The plane lurched and Betsy had to steady herself against the seat.

“Have you ever been in weather like this?”

“Oh yes, sir, many times,” the stewardess lied. “And I’m still here.”

She poured a glass of champagne for the historian and a coke for his pop-eyed son. The strange hissing sound stopped abruptly.

“Ha, give me some champagne, too!” a half-drunk passenger roared at the back. “Why not go out on the good stuff?” He laughed hysterically.

“Mayday, Miami, do you read me?” Captain Pearson tried again to make contact, but the static had made way for dead quiet. “Great, that’s helping!”

The two engines sputtered back into action, but it was too dangerous to risk a blind emergency landing. All the captain could do, was keep the plane afloat. Then he saw lights on the ground. Could it be stars reflecting in the sea? But unbelievably, land appeared through the thinning mist and the lights were on the land!

His joy turned to dismay. There shouldn’t be any land yet. Not in the Sargasso Sea, unless the force of the storm had driven them completely off-course. Then the fog lifted and Betsy entered the cockpit.

“Captain what is going on?”

“Something very strange, that’s for sure. There is land below, but I have no idea where we are.”

“Why is it dark outside? It can’t be that late. Darn, my watch stopped working.”

A half-moon stood out brightly against the starry sky. It had been broad daylight just before the storm. They had left Bermuda at 9:15 am sharp. The captain checked his watch. It had stopped at 11:12 am, May 28th.

“Are you going to attempt an emergency landing?” Betsy’s voice trembled.

“Without instruments? Too much of a risk. There is still enough fuel in the tank. We’ll have to cruise, while I try and establish contact.”

“What do I tell the passengers? They are asking questions.”

“Tell them everything is fine. We’re just a bit off course that’s all.”

But before Captain Pearson could contact the nearest airport, the instruments came on again, blinking and beeping. The captain tried to operate them, but it was as if something had taken over from him. The landing gear dropped.

A few minutes later, the Cessna set down on an illuminated runway, narrowly missing two cone-shaped buildings. The passengers clapped. As soon as the plane touched down, people started to emerge from the buildings. Large people in long white robes.

*

As if the theft of the ‘Speaking Stone’ had not been upsetting enough, the Lady of Kamûk needed to deal with another unexpected problem.

A bang had ripped through the night air east of D’ântilla. Something had crashed in the sky, but there was neither fire nor flying debris and no heavenly body had been detected by the observatory.

Thermo detectors searched the area between Jamba, home to the largest ptarmigan farm on D’ântilla, and the eastern coast.

“Detectors picked up several individuals in a winged metal machine — presumably a vimaan,” the scientist in charge reported. “The vimaan was safely teleported to Jamba’s rarely used airstrip.

On closer inspection we discovered that this noisy and smelly flying object is no ordinary vimaan. The five men, one woman and one child appear to be terrified of the rescue personnel. I can assure you that the Gabari women are perfectly trained to handle such emergency situations.”

“Interesting.” The Lady of Kamûk listened attentively. She walked next to the scientist toward the outlandish vimaan in one of the airport’s hangars.

“Attempts to communicate with the passengers were futile. They don’t seem to understand even one civilised language. We decided to sedate them with sleeping gas in order to prevent panic.”

“So it has happened again, Thujan.” The Lady of Kamûk peered through the vehicle’s big front window at the sleeping pilot. “What are we going to do now?”

She had arrived in Jamba to inspect the flying object and its passengers and her suspicions were soon confirmed. Thujan was a very serious man with longish grey hair, who spoke with authority.

“There is no doubt, honourable Lady. The vimaan is from another time. The cosmic raygun was tested yesterday and like before, objects from another dimension were attracted and most regrettably crossed through the barrier of space and time. The new raygun could be too strong. The sudden energy surge must be causing irregular fluctuations in the continuum. Just like before.”

The scientist hinted at an incident, when two fishing boats had suddenly appeared close to Kamûk two moon phases ago, causing a sensation.

“The recent improvements did not help then.”

“My apologies, Lady, but it does not seem so. We will work harder.”

Masters of harbours and airstrip commanders were required to report any unusual sightings. D’ântillans had witnessed only one such event before.

When the Lady had been a young maiden at the citadel of Lycia, the last member of a ship’s crew of eleven died. Their vessel had broken through the space time barrier in the early hours of one fateful morning almost one sheaf of years ago.

The ship was found only two days later, which had made a reversal of the crossing impossible. The homesick seafarers had eventually come to believe that divine intervention had saved them from fighting a gruesome war in their own time. Thanks to a minimal adjustment of their memories at the ‘House of Life’.

“We must keep this incident quiet.”

“Yes, Lady. The last time some said that the hold of eternal ice on the continent of Annwynn at the pit of the globe may have lifted to release the poor, unliving souls of the dead. Ridiculous.”

The Lady of Kamûk shook her head. “It is best to avoid such reactions this time.”

“Last moon we managed to send the two fishing boats back to their own time. There is hope. It didn’t attract undue attention under the cover of night.”

“Then let’s do it the same way we did it then. There should be enough time before daybreak.” The Lady looked up at the starry sky. It was so peaceful out here.