This is stupid, Gilly. Gillian thinks it to herself as she suits herself up, much as she had done the first time, with Loki. Even as she pulls on her gloves and puts on her hard hat, even as she heads down the alleyway, she is thinking. When does she ever stop thinking? This is stupid, and you're going to get hurt.
The lamp is clipped onto her belt as she unlocks the padlock. Such is the wonder of modern life; nobody thinks anything as long as you look suitably part of the background. Nobody has reason to pay attention to a maintenance door to a disused section of tunnel, and even if they did, their key not working would only mean that the lock is broken, or that they picked up the wrong key. But there is no sign to indicate that anyone has been by. She lets herself in nimbly, ignoring the accusing thoughts running through her head as best she can.
You aren't being sensible. You're always sensible, Gilly. Are you turning into Maddie, now, acting on impulse? Where is your logic now? You could have called that professor. Or at least left a message so that if you didn't turn up he might come looking for you.
"He wouldn't come looking, okay?" Gillian says it out loud to shut up the pessimistic voice picking away at her inside her head. It echoes for a moment before dying away to stillness; she heads to the access ladder after closing the doors behind her, climbing down and ignoring by sheer force of will how dark the shadows loom when one is alone down here. "He hardly knows me, and anyway, he has more accreditation than I do. He might steal it and then I'd be screwed. I need to figure out what to do, and - and it isn't happening sitting safely at home or in the library."
What are you doing, Gillian? The voices mock her, persistently pecking at her vulnerabilities as she heads down the tunnel, checking for her markings and finding her way bit by bit back to the Roman section. You're always so sensible. You always have a plan. And now where have your plans gotten you? You're alone, Gillyflower. Nobody is here for you. They are all in Oahu without you. "I didn't want to go." It is true, but that does not make it stop stinging. "I have better things to do."
You will die alone and unloved, in the dark with no light to shine upon you or shield you from hurt and disgrace...
You push yourself so hard, I do not need to challenge you. If anything, I will need to still you, to caution you. And who would have ever believed that I would be the first to suggest caution?
There are shadows plenty here and no doubt rats and mice to go along with it, but here in your familiar tunnel, the stone bearing the marks you made, there is a feeling of comfort, familiarity.
You know what you are doing.
It is a deeper voice that insists that. Something within you. The nutmeg at the center of your soul, perhaps. It is the root of your confidence. You can handle it.
He walks alongside her, hidden in shadows, armored in them. He holds them at bay. She cannot see how he looks at her, or the cobwebs of History and Legend that he cuts down for her with his shadowy blade. You go ahead and I clear the way. We do this together, Gillian West. You are not alone.
Bran ap Davydd moves in silence, unseen. Unknown to her, she is in the safest place on earth...
It soothes her - but not for long. She is tormented. She does not know what to do, and that, more than anything, has her conflicted, confused, vexed. She follows the path, as if it will somehow lead to salvation...
"If I tell him, it will get officials involved. If I tell him or don't, it means changing my thesis. I don't know what to write about this place!" Gillian's voice takes on a wilder note, and she wipes at her eyes with the back of one hand. "I ...I have to stay calm. Maybe - maybe something will come to me..."
If I could materialize and make it better by wiping your cheek, I would. But it would frighten you. And you would learn nothing. So in the darkness instead, I lift my hand moving aside a curtain for you. Ahead, the lost villa of Appius Vergilius called Celeris, a wealthy man who met a bad end. Never trust a Sabine. That's the lesson there.
If I could whisper in your ear and have you hear me, I would say but this: Believe, Gillian.
Believe...
Believe...
You are in your tunnel now. Ahead is the mark on the wall, the spot of your discovery. In the umbral world, in the thin skin between His and Yours, Bran moves aside another layer of dust, another layer of oblivion. The marble is there for you to see. The mosaics of Orpheus and the dolphin.
She is not afraid of the dark; not usually. But right now, every shadow holds something to be afraid of, because her world, so rigid and meticulously planned, has developed a crack. And one crack has led to another, and now she does not know how many cracks there are, or will be. Her map is tattered and falling to pieces and all her searching among the rubble has availed her naught.
She keeps moving because when in doubt, what else can she do? She makes her way into the first chamber of the lost villa, and she inhales sharply, then exhales and closes her eyes. You have made it this far, Gilly. But what then?
What then, indeed. Gillian opens her eyes, looking around briskly. She shrugs off her pack and reaches for her instruments - and then draws her hand back, shaking her head. She leaves her pack where it is, taking only the digital camera and her flashlight, and instead of her scientifically rigorous intentions, she follows something else instead; something she has not followed in a long time if ever. A whim.
She sets to work, to explore all of the villa and not just continue with the little bit she'd seen the last time. And as she does so, Gillian whispers, to herself and to the still air.
"When I went to look at what had long been hidden,
A jewel laid long ago in a secret place,
I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire --
But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.
I almost gave my life long ago for a thing
That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes --
It is strange how often a heart must be broken
Before the years can make it wise."
The villa hasn't been seen in fifteen hundred years. It is not complete. Much was taken from it, reused elsewhere as was the custom. Why let perfectly good marble and limestone go to waste? But you stand inside the atrium, the center of the four-walled courtyard. There are arches to the east and west. you entered from the south. The north section of arches are gone, rubble reused long hence.
Could you imagine this place under starlight? Standing at your side, Bran looks to you. He smiles in an unseen flash, and he surrounds you in the protection of nightfall. Above would have been the sky, uncontaminated by electricity, completely filled by stars. Now, it is just another part of London, forgotten like so many others.
He steps ahead and crouches down, a hand moving across the floor, moving away the grime of accumulated epochs. He places his hand upon what he finds and he looks to you. Here. Look here.
You do not see the hand, or the wiping away of dirt and grime, but in the gleam of your flashlight you catch something on the ground. A word, etched for eons...
CCCXXIV
She sighs quietly to herself, looking around. "How did you happen," Gillian talks to the walls, quietly, to herself. "You were cut off from the world, somehow, and preserved for all this time. The air isn't even poisonous. And yet, once, people lived and died here, walked here, where nobody has walked in... well, who knows how long, really?"
She drops to a knee, aiming her flashlight and gently sweeping the dirt away. Her eyes widen - and suddenly, she is sweeping with renewed purpose, albeit very gently. This is big...
It is the base of a statue that no longer exists, or perhaps it is in the London Museum of History or the Smithsonian, stolen from its original pedestal. The letters signify a number: 324. A date of record.
He is kneeling beside you, his hand near your own. There is your thread. Feel the twine in your fingers. It will lead you. Bran leans close to the student in the shadows, a breath away from her ear. It will lead you to what you wish to know...
To all the things forgotten...
And to me...
This is bigger than big. This is huge. Gillian's eyes narrow, and she shakes her head to herself. There is so much to learn and to figure out. I can do so little.
Nonetheless, she straightens, expression determined as she rises and picks up her camera. She takes a picture of the base, then begins to move through the chambers, relentlessly photographing, using a duster grabbed from her pack to lightly dislodge grime of ages here and there. "What must this have looked like," Gillian murmurs to herself, "before it fell to this..."
It was once as we all were: young and beautiful. We all come to this. Well... most of us. I won't. But others will. But in saving them we save ourselves. In remembering them, no one is forgotten. In touching our past, we prepare for the future far more wisely. Bring it forward, Gillian...
Folding his arms across his chest, he watches you. Nothing else is revealed tonight. Now, he watches. His eyes peer into the darkness beyond which most can see. There are the ghosts, of course; they want their say, but he holds them back with a motion of his hand. The Lost will not be lost forever.
It is time to go, Gillian...
Umbered steps lead him silently to you. Though you cannot feel the touch of his hand, the bend of head, the warmth of his mouth to your ear, you do feel the stirring ...not of fear... but of planning for another night. It is time to go for now. You cannot stay in the Hidden forever, lest you become lost yourself...
She stirs, straightening from her picture-taking and giving her head a little shake. Time to go. Gillian rubs her hand against her cheek, and though you have nudged her, you have not given her the idea, the impetus, the fire which suddenly flashes in her eyes. She puts her belongings away, one by one, sliding her pack up onto her back. "I'll be back," she murmurs to herself. She does mean it.
And then she is whirling, turning, mind crowded with thoughts and with Plans as she marches for the way out, carefully picking her way out. She knows exactly what she is going to do when she reaches the street.
That's it...
In the shadows, Bran grins to see the fire in your eyes. He watches you as you emerge to the safety of the street level (okay, relative safety), and then your trailing shadow disappears...
The door is locked behind her as she emerges, and she looks around for a moment, then already she's digging out her cell phone. There's a particular number that's been programmed in, though she hasn't ever dialed it. Now, she does.
"Pick up, professor," Gillian whispers, though you are not there to hear, and you have not yet answered your phone. "Pick up..."
It is three rings, one just shy of voice mail, before the call is answered: "Hallo," he says, his accent a warm lilt, even with one two-syllable word.
"Hello, professor." Gillian smiles to herself. I know something you don't know. She heads out of the alleyway with her gear in tow, phone pressed to her ear. It isn't, after all, all that unusual. "I don't suppose you happen to be in London this week, would you? If you are, I thought I'd see if you're up for a bite to eat. My hotel has an excellent restaurant, and I wanted to ask you something."
"Hello, Gillian," Bran says warmly. There's a smile on the other end. He is happy to hear from you. "You know... I happen to be in London. I would call it providence, but ... it's not like a chance meeting in Timbuktu." Teembooktoo it sounds like.
Actually, it's exactly like a chance meeting in Timbuktu.
"I would love to get a bit of dinner. I think I still have the grad student meal plan. Which is eating whenever possible. What works for you?"
"How about..." She looks down at herself. "Ninety minutes? I am staying at Claridge's. Treating myself, don't you know," you can hear her grin down the line. "But I need to get back and cleaned up, so if that works for you, that'd be super. Call me when you're in the lobby and we'll figure out the details."
I need to get myself cleaned up, that's for sure. And these pictures scanned into my laptop. and then...
Well, we'll just have to see, won't we...
"Hmmm... Claridge's. Rather. I will see you there then, ninety minutes," the warm voice replies, humor edging the lilt and drag of consonants. "I'm looking forward to it..."
Not as much as you're about to...
"I'll see you then. Bye!" Gillian rings off with a satisfied smile as she heads into the lift of a nearby building. She hits the button, stopping the elevator between floors, and calmly but quickly changes into her street clothes. Her pack is then swung back onto her shoulders, and the lift is re-engaged. From there, it's just a quick cab ride to Claridge's, and up to her room...
Posted by rowan at April 12, 2009 08:34 PM
