The Iron Snake
Nathaniel started the next morning with a hearty breakfast. They had food enough for only two days, but one extra serving was unlikely to make a difference and they'd earned a decent meal. He doled out a double portion of meat and flat-bread. Orah said it was more than she needed and offered her portion to Thomas, who gratefully accepted. When they were finished, they filled their water skins from the falls and set off.
Travel that day was uneventful except for Orah's obsession with the second verse. She recited it constantly.
To the East, towering o'er the lake
A cave made by men who must die
Two doors to the mouth of the snake
Inside, you must enter and fly
"The first part's obvious," she said. "We're looking for a man-made cave high up on the hillside to our right."
"So you told us," Thomas said. "Five times."
"But I can't fathom the rest, the part about the snake and flying."
"Let it go," Nathaniel said. "For six weeks, we've taken one step at a time. Wait till we find the cave."
"I know, but it's best to be prepared, especially when giant snakes are involved."
Then she repeated the verse. And so it went for the rest of the day.
The trek to the falls had taken the predicted eight days. The cave was supposed to be one more. So by late afternoon, Nathaniel was unsurprised to find a man-made tower looming ahead.
"
To the East, towering o'er the lake
," Orah said yet again. "There's the lake and here's our tower."
The tower rose some sixty feet and was made of stone, which like so much of the old civilization was crumbling with age. As they followed it to its top, they could see at once what was there. The tower was capped by a platform that formed the entrance to a cave.
"What a peculiar place for a cave," Thomas said.
But Nathaniel had an inkling of its purpose. He scanned across the river valley.
"Look there."
To the west, hundreds of paces away, he'd found a mirror image - an identical tower with a cave above it.
"Now what do you suppose that means?" Thomas said.
Orah smiled her I-know-the-answer smile. "It means the old masters had few limits. The vicar of Bradford spoke about an age of innovation and genius. We're looking at one of their miracles."
Thomas gaped at her. "What're you talking about?"
"There must have been a road across the valley suspended between the two towers," Nathaniel said. "It cut through the mountain on the far side and went back through on this side."
Thomas glanced from one wall of the valley to the other. "But that's not possible. A thousand men couldn't build that."
Orah patted his arm. "Before we're done, Thomas, we may have to redefine possible."
Once his friends got over their wonder, Nathaniel urged them to tackle the next problem-how to scale the tower. On its far side, he discovered metal rungs embedded in the stone, the lowest of these within his grasp. But when he grabbed and pulled, the rusted metal disintegrated in his hand.
Nathaniel and Orah surveyed the tower, debating solutions, while Thomas was circling the base. At last Thomas spoke up.
"I can climb it."
Nathaniel interrupted his planning. "What was that?"
"I said I can climb it. The bricks may have crumbled, but they've left holes to a solid core. The rungs may be rusted, but the fasteners are intact. I know every hole and fastener I'd use. And once I'm at the top, I can attach the rope to help the two of you up."
Orah stared at the tower and then at Thomas, letting the idea sink in. But Nathaniel was checking the angle of the sun.
"All right. We'll try it your way, but not now. Too dangerous so late in the day."
Thomas began to argue, but Nathaniel cut him off.
"I won't start now, Thomas. We're already tired, and if there's a problem, we'll be solving it in the dark. Better first thing in the morning."
Orah nodded. "Especially with a giant snake awaiting at the top."
***
Early next morning, Nathaniel stared at the tower and wondered. Their path had been laid out by people long gone with extraordinary powers. But what if the seekers had taken too long to emerge?
The tower was a good example. If the Temple had been challenged sooner, they might have used the ladder to climb up. But now, success depended on the agility of a nimble seventeen-year-old.
Thomas coiled the rope around his left shoulder, leaving his right arm free, and headed to the base of the tower. Nathaniel followed uneasily, while Orah stayed so close, it seemed she planned to climb up with him.
Thomas grinned at her. "Move aside, Orah. If I fall, you won't be able to catch me and you'll only get hurt."
Her eyes widened. "Maybe we should find a safer way."
Thomas winked. "Stop worrying. This'll be easy."
He jumped on Nathaniel's shoulders and stood, exactly as he'd done with a different boy years before at festival. Then he scampered up, using the grooves in the stone and the fasteners of the ladder. In less than a minute, he reached the top.
He waved to his friends, then tied one end of the rope to a tree and lowered the rest. That morning, Nathaniel had tied handgrips in it every two feet to help those less nimble make the ascent.
It took Orah three times as long to complete the climb, with Nathaniel encouraging her every step. She seemed to hold her breath until Thomas locked hands and boosted her over the top.
Next came the packs and then it was Nathaniel's turn. He gave a tug on the rope, hoping it would support him, and started off. It turned out to be easier than he thought. Though not as good a climber as Thomas, he was stronger and, with the aid of the handgrips, soon joined his friends.
His relief was short-lived. Behind them gaped the entrance to the cave. As tall as a Little Pond cottage, it had straight walls rising on either side before curving into a perfect arch-clearly made by men. But inside, no light entered. He was unable to penetrate its darkness for more than a few paces.
They'd need torches. He prompted the others to gather dry brush, then bound them to green branches and lit them. After a longing gaze at the brightly lit expanse of the river valley, he plunged in.
Walking was difficult. The surface inside the cave was occasionally solid, but mostly loose gravel. Nathaniel soon realized the roadbed was made of timbers buried in the gravel at regular intervals. Once he adjusted his stride to step from plank to plank, the walking became easier. It was a natural gait for him, but the others needed to stretch. Even so, they soon got their rhythm and were loping along.
As they proceeded, Nathaniel was struck by the sameness. The walls, the ceiling, even the distance between timbers remained the same, no matter how far they went. The rhyme had been specific about the journey so far but was vague about the cave. He'd assumed its passage would be brief. What if he were mistaken? They had water for two days, food for one, and the cave was completely barren. When their kindling ran out, they'd be cast into darkness as deep as the teaching cell. If the primary precept of the Temple was true, that the sun was the giver of life, the cave might become their tomb.
He tried counting timbers as a way to measure progress. How long should he let them keep going? He'd learned to trust the keepmasters, but their guidance was lacking in the cave. He preferred not to risk the lives of his friends on an assumption.
He needn't have worried.
Since they entered the cave, their torches had cast flickering shadows on the walls and the ceiling above. That suddenly changed-firelight scattered in all directions. They were not in a cave anymore, but a large chamber. And it wasn't empty. The torchlight reflected off signs overhead, most rusted, but some with numbers still to be read. And to their left and right, they could sense indistinct shapes, shadows in the darkness.
Nathaniel suggested they fan out, but Orah refused, reminding him of the giant snake. He turned to his left, only to bump into a chest-high wall. The right was the same. He advanced twenty paces and repeated the exercise. No change. The walls were not walls at all, but the sides of a trench between platforms.
He picked one side and hoisted Thomas up. After his friend confirmed it was safe, he boosted Orah up as well, then vaulted to the top on his own.
He held his breath. There was no sound but the echo of sounds they made themselves.
They stepped off, trying to maintain a straight line until they reached a wall. Orah held up her torch and examined it. It was made of tile, still intact but for a few fragments that had broken away.
"Thomas, come closer," she said.
"What is it?" he whispered.
"There's writing on the tile. Hold my torch up with yours so I can see better."
She peered at the wall, then rubbed off the grime with the flat of her hand. A blackening appeared against a white background.
"It's the start of a word."
Thomas brought the torches closer. There on the wall was the biggest letter P they'd ever seen.
She took the skin from her pack and began dribbling water over the next letter.
"What are you doing?" Thomas cried, reaching out to stop her. "We have little enough as is."
She jerked her hand free and kept pouring. "It's a message from the keepmasters."
She needed the full content of her skin before the words became clear.
Please mind the gap between the platform and the train.
"What does that mean?" Thomas said.
"I don't know, but it might be important, like the rhyme."
"Or it may be ordinary, a simple everyday message."
Orah's eyes narrowed. "Nothing the keepmasters did was ordinary."
"I hope you're right," Thomas said, "but I doubt it. Unless they were gods, they were ordinary most of the time like the rest of us."
But there was no time for bickering-the torches were burning low. Nathaniel held his flame high and swept it across the chamber. He was rewarded with a flicker in response.
"Over here."
They rushed to his side and stood with torches in a row. Ahead the firelight reflected off huge shapes. Nathaniel shuffled forward, hands outstretched, until he reached the first. It was metallic, rounded, as tall as a man, and extended some distance in either direction.
"I think we found your giant snake, Orah."
She came forward and touched it. "Is it alive?"
"I don't think so. I think it's a creation of the keepmasters."
Thomas ran his fingertips along its dusty sides, then rapped on it with his knuckles. "But for what purpose?"
"Think where we've come from," Orah said. "Remember the road across the valley? It looks like a wagon that could carry lots of people."
"But why would the keepmasters call it a snake?"
"Maybe they were afraid we'd forget their name for it, so they used a timeless shape instead."
"But how can we be certain it's the snake of the rhyme?"
"
Two doors to the mouth of the snake, Inside, you must enter and fly.
Think, Thomas. The rock face wasn't a cliff, but a boulder in the shape of a man's head. Why couldn't the snake be a round wagon? And even though the word 'fly' means to soar like a bird, we use it in other ways. What did the elders say after you won a race at festival?"
Thomas grinned. "'That boy can fly.' All right, maybe the snake's a wagon. So what does a mouth mean?"
They wandered around the wagon, trying to find an entrance. There were doors on the side, but nothing that could be called a mouth, and all were rusted shut.
Nathaniel worried the kindling would run out and they'd be left in the dark. "We don't have much time. Where would a mouth be?"
"In the front, of course," Orah said. "But which end is that?"
"We better hope it's not where we've come from or these wagons will really have to fly when they find no bridge across the valley. Let's check the far end."
No longer afraid of some monster, Orah agreed to split up so they could more quickly inspect each wagon. Once alone, Nathaniel felt the small hairs on the nape of his neck tingle as his world shrunk to the pool of light from his torch. But soon, the shouts of his friends echoed across the chamber.
"Nothing on this one."
"None here either."
Then Orah's voice resounded above all. "I've found something, different from the others. Its front's more tapered... like the head of a snake."
Nathaniel ran toward her as fast as he dared in the dim light. "And are there doors at its mouth."
"I'll see. I'm almost there."
The three gathered and gawked. This wagon
was
different, newer and undamaged by time. Its translucent skin had a luster that amplified the light, like the surface of the scrolls. Most importantly, where its head tapered to a point, there seemed to be a hatch.
Was this the carriage that would take them to the keep?
Thomas broke the spell. "But we don't know how to get in. And if we did, we wouldn't know how to make it go."
"Believe," Orah said. "Believe in the keepmasters."
She reached out a hand and brushed her fingertips against the skin of the wagon. Suddenly, it emitted a hum. She jumped back, but the wagon did not fly. Instead, it stirred slowly as if waking from a long sleep. The interior began to glow and in a few seconds was bright as day. The humming grew louder, and next the hatch began to lift, rising gracefully until it had cleared the way-exposing a doorway wide enough for four men to enter abreast.
Thomas was dumbfounded. "It's magic."
"Yes," Orah said. "But not temple magic. It's the genius of the keep. When something's the work of the keepmasters, anything's possible. And now, they're inviting us in." She dropped her torch and entered. "Well, what are you waiting for? Do you think it's going to eat us?"
Thomas hesitated, but was unwilling to let Orah be braver. He stepped inside. Nathaniel snuffed out his torch and followed.
The interior was laid out with padded chairs that would have been appropriate around a Little Pond fireplace. But there the similarity ended. Had there been two hundred more seekers, all would have fit.