Chapter 45
The air is cold and humid and there a rustling sound emanating from a corner. The place looks like the dungeon of a castle. The atmosphere seems somewhat familiar, although I cannot place it.
My army, behind me, is waiting for me to define the next move. The men are no longer on their horses, and there’s a hint of fear on their faces.
I look around, trying to find some inspiration for the next move, and in a corner I see an array of ampoules, neatly aligned, all containing a yellowish fluid.
I remember these ampoules: I used them to prepare the potion myself eons ago. I know there are 153 ampoules there, each for one of my 151 soldiers, and another two for Arthur and myself.
A shadow appears, smiles at me for an instant, and disappears. It wears elegant, outdated clothing, on a body that looks like mine. I smile back in recognition of my past self, reverberating from a long gone time.
“Each man should take an ampoule and bring it to the library. Don’t let them drink the potion just now. They first have to reach the library,” the echo of the shadow resonates after its last wisps dissolve from my sight.
The men obey to the instructions of my past shadow cast into the present.
The square of soldiers reshapes itself into a line, as my men wait for their turn to take the potion that will unlock the secret of the door. Then they return to their former positions, the square reforms, and the silence falls.
These men are too disciplined, I think. Do they have opinions? Can I really count on them to help me open the door?
“Where is the library? Do you know?” I challenge them.
The army remains silent.
“I don’t know the way to the library,” I repeat, but to no avail.
“Iris-” Arthur starts, but I cut his sentence before he can continue.
“I know each of you has been here before,” I insist.
“Iris, you must bring them to the library. If you don’t, they will not be able to become the men you want them to be,” Arthur states, this time with a tone too decisive for me to interrupt.
“Very well,” I say, with a note of defiance in my tone.
“You have to lead the way, they cannot get you there,” Arthur iterates.
I don’t know the way though, and I landscape the place, hoping for a hint.
I see two doors, and suddenly I cringe at the memory of a feeling that had terrorized me in a time I can no longer recollect. I know that only one door will lead to the library, while the other will lead to a spot that can drive my army and me to insanity, perhaps death.
Slowly, I approach one of the two doors. I run my fingers across its edge and sense the rough rocks around it in search of an answer.
And the army waits, silent.
I move to the other door and repeat the process, and yet I cannot get my memories to emerge.
A rush of panic runs through me, I feel lost. I have an army ready to follow me, but I don’t know where to go. The army is useless, the potions the old me prepared, waiting for this moment for centuries, will go to waste, and I will disappoint all hopes of my father the king. The royal family will perish.
Defeated, I let the tears roll down my eyes.
“What is happening Iris?” Arthur asks me.
“You cannot count on me, Arthur. Please bring these men away, I don’t know what to do with them,” I sob, crashed by the sense of inadequacy.
“Not at all, Iris. Focus,” he objects calmly.
“You have to know where to stop, Arthur,” I reply.
“What do you mean?” he asks.
“I said I cannot do it,” I repeat, disheartened and angry at once.
“When you and I walked out of this place, long ago, what did we do? Do you remember, the two of us together?” Arthur asks.
I am not sure about the purpose of his question, but I reply nonetheless.
“We spoke about our experiments here, I suppose. We discussed about how to improve our potions,” I say.
“Yes, and about how to use them in the future, right?” he continues.
“Yes,” I say.
“You envisioned a direction for your future,” Arthur says.
“I did,” I reply, wondering the rationale behind his statement.
“And now you can no longer envision it. That’s why you refuse to remember your way to the library,” he concludes.
“What are you talking about, Arthur?” I reply defensively.
The army remains silent, but their eyes are disapproving rather than obedient now.
“Who did we do in the future, Iris?” Arthur insists.
“We met my brother,” is my instinctive reply.
“Do you remember someone who tried to prevent you from talking with your brother?” Arthur continues me.
“You mean in mine 503?” I ask.
Arthur does not reply.
I walk through the bench of the door to which I am closest, alone. I keep running my fingers along the walls, in the semi-obscurity of the tunnel. At a point I feel an odd pattern on the wall, the roughness is no longer random. I stop, slowly inspecting the walls with my fingers. Something is written on the wall. My fingers trace the letters. There’s an “M”, and an “I”. I am trying to make out the third letter when a hollow scream breaks the silence.
“We must cut!” it shrieks, and I remember this voice. It reverberates from Mine 503, and I hate it now even more than I hated it then.
I see the wall deform, and Arthur’s face appears, squeezed against it.
“Arthur!” I yell.
“We must cut, cut, cuuut, ccccccut, t, t, t” the voice screams again and then crackles, agonizing.
The spell is about to break, but before the wall turns dark, before silence falls, I plunge my arms through the rocky walls. It deforms and yields, and lets me through to Arthur. Something resembling an electric shock flashes through my arms, I feel sucked into a new element, my head spins.
I am tempted to surrender, but Arthur is there. I can’t let go.
I pull back, with all my forces, dragging Arthur with me.
We fall back, breathless for a moment.
“Arthur…” I whisper.
He doesn’t reply.
“Arthur?” I shake him.
He opens his eyes, slowly.
“So you’ve got some guts left, thanks god,” he says.
“Shut up, will you?” I say, slapping him, grateful that he’s here with me, alive.
“Thank you, Arthur,” I tell him.
“Thank you?” he arches his brows.
“Yes, for helping me find my way,” I tell him, pulling him up and leading him out of the tunnel.
Out of the tunnel my army stands immobile, waiting.
“This way, brave men,” I command, slipping back into the commander’s role, smiling a broad wild grin to fuel my wavering faith.