Cale and the ancient ene.., p.14
Cale and the Ancient Enemy, page 14
“And the seas rose and covered the land,” said Cale’s father, paraphrasing a tale of the great flood. “Unfortunately, such a thing is actually possible, at least in theory,” he continued. “There are vast amounts of water locked up in the polar ice caps, and if they were released then there is more than enough water to cover a great deal of the land, perhaps all of the land.”
“What about here and in the city?” Cale asked. “Would we be under water?”
“We are a good distance from the sea here, but the city sits on a coastal plain and would be under water first. But the whole country is really rather flat and worn and low. There would be some interesting small islands but no continent as we know it if the waters rose to their full potential.” Cale shuddered as he recalled his dream. He needed to tell the others.
As he went outside, he looked up. The sky was clear and pale blue. He closed his eyes and turned his face to the early morning sun. It was warm and pleasant. He ‘listened’ with his other senses, and he could feel a change in the air, an uneasy, heavy feeling. He opened his eyes and was surprised to find the sunny morning still before him.
***
Water was falling from the sky.
The ocean was rising. It was pushed and pulled by the tide, ebbing and flowing but gradually rising, rising to reclaim the land.
In the north, the wind gathered force and swept the sea against the coast. Tropical storms and cyclones surged one after the other and swept the sea onto the land.
In the south the wind swept up from the icy Southern Ocean, bringing cold front after cold front to batter the coast.
Sudden bursts of destructive wind cut a path through bushes and trees, sometimes removing a roof, sometimes a fence.
Shelter was sought but the wind blew, and rain fell, and the sea rose and rose.
The patter of rain on the roof and the splash of drops falling into puddles had once delighted and pleased, but now the sounds tormented and terrified, a relentless and faceless threat. Fear gripped the land.
The time was approaching. Cale was sure.
He could sense the gathering of forces. He could feel the rising of the sea and the dropping pressure of the air. The rain had been constant and the ground was saturated.
Rosie had found their place and the gateway connecting them to the other place, and that gave them the means to bring the people that Peter would call.
All was ready.
Their preparations, their seeking and their searching, had not gone unnoticed. The black creatures that flew were gathering, high above in the clouded skies, in the cold and wet and blustering wind, in the conditions that dampened the spirits of the people and slowed down the earth creatures who drew their strength from the sun. The forces that would assist the rushing salt waters were gathering apace as the pivotal point approached.
Cale and the others were not unaware.
“We’re being opposed,” said Cale. “It’s time.”
Chapter 14: The Enemy
Cale’s father sat outside on a bench under the patio, a hot cup beside him, the newspaper on his lap. The garden was lush at this time of the year and the weather was cool, tending towards crisp. The persistent rain was unseasonal but had been good for the garden. He sat, not reading the newspaper and not really admiring his garden and the falling rain, absently sipping his hot tea. His mind was elsewhere – what was Cale doing? Was he safe? Cale was staying with Andrew for the holidays and that hadn’t always ended well. His mind was the mind of a parent, always nursing a little anxiety for his children. However, today he was particularly troubled. Nothing specific, just an intuition, an itch, an unease.
“I’m going to the city for a few days,” he announced at dinner that night. “I’ve a few jobs to do and I’m sure Andrew won’t mind putting me up for a few nights.”
His wife was surprised and thought her husband had something on his mind – but she didn’t say anything, especially as he would be spending time with her brother. The two men got along okay but were not as close as she would like. This might be a good thing.
“Yes, dear,” she replied.
***
Cale’s father arrived at the house. The leafy suburb always lifted his spirits after the long drive, even in this miserable drizzling rain. He wasn’t sure if his brother-in-law knew he was coming or not. He’d sent a short note in the post. He couldn’t ring as Andrew still had no telephone connected. The downside of not having a phone, he thought wryly to himself, was unexpected family visits. He smiled, pleased at the idea and knowing that it was usually his wife who arrived unexpectedly on her brother’s doorstep.
He left the car in the narrow drive, admiring the trimmed growth on either side, and walked gingerly down the side of the house. He dodged the heavier water drops falling from the eaves; he expected to find Andrew in the kitchen, which was open, or in the garden.
Both were vacant.
He thought and then he listened. He could hear faint voices. He tried a smaller, makeshift wooden shed, almost an outhouse sized structure but of somewhat recent construction – it was locked and he couldn’t hear anything inside. He pulled absently at the handle, and it clicked open beneath his touch. Fortunately, at that point he heard a noise elsewhere in the garden and didn’t enter the little makeshift shed, closing the door firmly as he left.
He followed the voices to the creeper-clad sides of a greenhouse, from where he could hear talking. He looked closely and saw the outline of a door concealed by the growth, and remembered the whimsy of his brother-in-law. He turned the handle and entered.
***
The door to the greenhouse opened unexpectedly and they all looked up to see Cale’s father entering slowly, looking around as he got his bearing, his eyes adjusting to the dim light.
“Hello,” he said brightly, determined to cut through the awkwardness of his unanticipated arrival.
“Hello,” said his brother-in-law, rising from his seat on an old milk crate.
“Did you get my note,” asked Cale’s father, “about my staying for a few days?”
“Sorry, no,” said his brother-in-law, somewhat on the back foot but not as disconcerted as he would have once been, before the adventures.
Uncle Andrew took a breath and took it all in his stride.
“Welcome,” he said. “No problem, come into the house, drop your bags, and let’s have a cup of tea.”
The awkward moment passed swiftly and was gone.
***
Cale’s father had business to do in the city, apparently, though he showed little sign of doing it. His claim to need a few days for business seemed a little vague after he had settled in and showed no sign of hurrying along or away. However, he was little trouble, pitching in for meals and chores and occupying himself with books and pottering about. Uncle Andrew actually found it useful having another bloke about – a grown up, sensible bloke – and they worked on a few projects in the garden that had been too difficult for Uncle Andrew to do by himself. Cale’s father was that typical working geologist – intellectual and prone to being pedantic, but comfortable using his hands and practical-minded. And he didn’t mind working outside in the rain. He could be a little obsessive and a little absentminded. He fitted in perfectly.
***
Cale’s father was patient and, when he was in the mood, he took his time. His anxiety had diminished when he arrived but now was growing again. Formless unease. He couldn’t put his finger on the source but as he worked in the garden, despite the persistent unseasonal rain, or sat in the greenhouse with a mug of tea, he knew it was there. He also knew that everyone was skirting around something. Something they didn’t talk about when he was there. Something important but they didn’t make a big deal about it, so it wasn’t something he could ask about.
He bided his time.
***
Cale sensed that the time was very near. Rosie had found the place. Peter had spoken to all those who could help, that he could reach. Now the time had come. And the moment came for Cale’s father.
“The time is close,” Cale’s father said as they sat comfortably in the greenhouse.
“I know,” replied Cale distractedly.
Then he looked up as he realised it was his father and not his uncle who had spoken.
“Perhaps you could share with me,” said his father. “I have seen things, and I know things. You can trust me with what you know.”
Cale looked at Rosie and Peter. They looked back without alarm. They liked Cale’s father.
Cale glanced at his uncle who nodded his acceptance, with perhaps a little relief. Keeping a secret this size was exhausting and sharing it eased the load.
“Well,” said Cale. “It all began like this…”
Cale’s father listened attentively and held back his many questions. He grunted a few times at the adventures and Cale knew he was expressing his disapproval of some risk or other that Cale had taken. However, he had asked to be told, and he didn’t interrupt while Cale for his part held back nothing.
The telling had taken so long that Uncle Andrew had returned with fresh tea and some oat biscuits.
Cale’s father sat in silence, drinking his tea and chewing on a biscuit.
“So much makes sense,” he said, breaking the somewhat tense silence. “So much.”
Rosie had a sudden insight.
“You can see,” she said. “You can see what we can see.”
“Yes, I can,” he replied quietly. “I can see and have seen for years. Now I know it isn’t just me.”
“You never said anything,” said his brother-in-law.
“Hmph,” he replied. “Neither did you.”
“Well,” said Uncle Andrew. “One doesn’t just tell people.”
They smiled at each other and Uncle Andrew poured the tea.
“So,” said Cale’s father, “what do you need from me? My business in town will have to wait.”
They smiled at this. He smiled back.
Chapter 15: The Summoning
The rain had become relentless; it was all heavy downpours, sweeping showers, light drizzle, and misty rain. They all blurred into one long, endless stream of water from the heavens with never a sight of the sun and no break, unless the rain perhaps stopped during the night when the exhausted populace tried to sleep.
Cale didn’t need any special insight to know that the time had come. He sat in the greenhouse, listening to the rain; the gloom matched everyone’s mood.
“The paper says the rain is unnatural,” said Uncle Andrew, who sat with a hot cup and a damp newspaper. “The bureau says it is unseasonal, unusual, and unprecedented.”
“The letters are full of people complaining and some suggesting that the rain has something intentional about it,” he continued. “Some ‘purpose beyond the damp and wet misery’. The rain is all that anyone can talk about.”
“Don’t read the letters,” said Cale’s father. “Full of whingers and nutcases.”
“Usually,” his brother-in-law replied. “I think they might be onto something in this case.”
Cale sensed that the rain was a precursor of the real danger.
The rain came from the sea and the real danger came from the sea, always from the sea. He saw warning signs in the reports of tidal erosion and weather reports of a developing low pressure system out to sea and he could see for himself the swollen river that crept over its banks and then receded, and then crept farther over its banks and receded a little less.
When the wind started, he knew for certain. The relentless rain was now joined by a ceaseless wind that set everyone on edge. The land was swept by wind and sodden with water.
“The worst is yet to come,” said Cale, and they all knew as he said it that the time was at hand.
Cale realised that the sense of impending disaster had long been rising within him. It had been with him, it seemed, always, or at least as long as he could think back. He knew this for sure because now that the time had come and he was at the point of crisis, the sense of unease that had nagged at him diminished and faded. He was aware of it because it had stopped, and now he noticed its absence. It was replaced with a call to action, a sharper more distinct and direct sensation. More pointed and less vague.
Instinct drove him now as the unsettling sense of an uncertain future was replaced by the calmness of a present crisis.
“We need to go now,” he said, jumping to his feet.
***
Cale sat on the exposed wet rock with his hands palm-down on the rough surface of the ancient stone, ignoring the ever-present rain.
He felt as one with the rock and felt his senses extend down and out and away from him, connected to the rock below; the rock was old and hard and enduring.
He felt the age of the Earth and the passing of the years and the turning of the Earth and the movement of the planets around the sun and the slow spiral drift of the stars.
He felt the passing of life above and around and within the rock, and the passage of life had left traces.
The rock remembered.
The rock knew many things in the way a library knew many things. The truth was there in the rock like the books in a library. Books could be explored by one who takes the time to look and can read the language and make sense of what has been written down for another to find.
Yet many will walk past the rows of books without pause or thought or regret for what has been passed over and passed by. The rock was a collection of stories and memory and, with effort, he could read it.
He felt how easy it would be to lose himself in the ancient memory of the rock, tracing one story after another while time passed and his own life leached into the rock on which he sat.
With a jerk he withdrawn from the rock and breathed heavily the air of this time and this place. He knew what to do now. He could browse the stories of the past another day and another time. He had no time now if that other day was ever to come, and the now was what mattered.
Cale took a deep breath, closed his eyes and focused his mind on his palms against the rough stone.
Then he pushed with his hands but more importantly he pushed with his mind, and he thought a command.
He wasn’t sure what the command was.
Perhaps he called ‘come now’. An urgent summons. He wasn’t even sure that he had said words, but he had done something. He had struck the rock with a mighty blow that echoed out throughout the land and beyond.
He had called and now just hoped that someone would come.
As he stood, it seemed to Cale that he had done this before – a moment of déjà vu perhaps.
He shook off the feeling and stood for a moment on the rocky ledge, the place that Rosie had found, and he looked out towards the city, or rather, in the direction of the city, for the sky was dark and the rain blurred any view of the distant towers.
He had done as Peter had asked, and called those who might hear the summons of the gatekeeper.
He looked outward.
On a good day, one could imagine the sea on the distant horizon and the tall buildings of the city between and see all the large and small buildings and wide and narrow roads as an indistinct textured pattern across the flatness of the coastal plane.
On a good day.
On this day everything was a hazy blur, and the rain fell on Cale as he stood. Water was streaming over the rock, over the edge and down to the usually dry, rocky stream beds below. Nothing was dry now as Cale faced into the wind, blinking against the light misty rain that fell in this early part of the day. The sun had risen behind him, but only his sense of its presence helped identify its location as the blanket of cloud hid it from sight.
He had done what he could to summon everyone, but didn’t know who would come. He had called them to battle, as his instinct had demanded, and as Peter had asked, but he didn’t know how they would fight this threat.
He tried to ignore the rain. It was a distraction.
The real threat was the rising of the sea and the flooding of the coastal plain that he could see before and below him. He didn’t want this ledge to become a cliff overlooking a shallow sea, dotted with the remnants of tall building and islands of higher ground rising from the sluggish waters of a newly conquered saltwater plain, or re-conquered according to his uncle.
He left the ledge and returned to their camp.
They didn’t know how long they would need to stay on the scarp, waiting for the gathering that he hoped was in progress, so they had arranged a camping holiday. He needed time to find the right moment, and that could only come by being present and patient. His uncle, and surprisingly his father, whose presence though somewhat distracting had eased a lot of the other obstacles, were enjoying themselves despite the continued rain. They had spent much of their young adulthood in remote places, doing the geological footwork required to establish their careers, and were proving dab hands at creating a dry and functioning campsite amidst the falling rain and running streams.
Before Cale entered the largest tent, he dutifully shook out his rain jacket and slipped out of his boots, as he had been instructed, in the small antechamber. The inside of the tent was dry and surprisingly well kitted-out. He slunk to the far corner and sat in one of the almost legless camping chairs. He accepted an enamel mug filled with hot, strong, milky tea. And a large oat biscuit.
No one spoke to him.
His uncle was making more tea, his father was reading a book, and Rosie was trying to make a little boat out of twisted long grass and twigs.
Peter had gone to the other place through the gateway behind where they had camped. They hoped he would return soon with all who would come. He seemed to be taking a long time, more than a day now, and they were beginning to worry.
“He knows that we will be here,” said Cale’s father, unexpectedly offering an opinion when they had been discussing their options, to stay or to go looking for Peter. “He seems a sensible boy, let’s not complicate things by rushing off all over the place. Always better for one party to stay in one place, especially if it is a known place. We should just wait and let him come to us when he is ready.”
