Chapter 2: Under the River
Tommy wasn’t wrong. He really was under the river.
In a panic, he pressed himself against the wall, tapping, knocking, pounding his hand against it to gauge its thickness. As he did this, other animals, looking more like monsters than the fish around them, swam by. He took a step back to fully take in the room.
Only now did he notice a small stone structure at the far end of the room. It looked like a circle sliced in half, forming an arch. The center was hollowed out and flat, acting as a table. Strange markings were carved into the sides of the arch. Tommy couldn’t tell if these markings were a foreign language or simply for design. A gold balance sat at the center of the table. And behind the table was every boy’s dream: a treasure trove of weapons.
Random objects—upon a closer look, relics—were neatly arranged against the back wall. Piles of ball ammunition and handmade silver coins. One musket. One single-shot pistol. An out-of-place 9mm handgun that looked quite new. Arrowheads tied around straightened dogwood with turkey feathers at the end. Two railroad lanterns and four large knives with ivory handles. And finally, a pile of Spartan helmets. None of the items made sense together. Everything appeared to be from a different era.
Tommy’s attention shifted to the stone table. There were many oddities on it, but the first thing that caught his eye was a large hourglass made from gold. The top bulb held the majority of the sand that slowly trickled into the bottom half. Underneath the hourglass was a note. It was rough and feathered. The ink was faded. More sepia than black but still readable. Tommy carefully lifted the note. In fine cursive, the following was written:
“To My Kin,
If these words ever find their way to you, it is likely I have either secured my passage from this cursed isle or perished in the endeavor. Should I not return, let it be known I held each of you close in heart ‘til my final breath. The path I now walk is said to be a righteous one, and I reckon I was chosen for it.
We shall meet again—be it in this life or the next.
With all the love a man can carry,
Locke”
What have I gotten myself into? Tim wondered. Maybe it’s the fumes from the river. Now that would make sense.
His focus moved to a scale at the center of the table. Small, linen pieces were stacked in front of it. More linen pieces could be found on each pan of the scale, but these pieces were stained with drops of blood.
Something was off, and it took him a minute to figure it out—the scale seemed broken. The left pan only held a small stack of linen squares compared to the right side, yet the left pan touched the desk as if it were heavier.
“It is not broken. She’s telling you her preference.”
Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin. A tall man stood at the other side of the cave. He was cloaked in a pearly white robe. Even from a distance, Tommy could see his radiant eyes. Each one matched a side of the cave—gold, then blue.
“Do not be afraid. I am here to aid you,” said the man. His face appeared ageless, yet his voice was ancient. It was deep and absolute. Tommy was frozen. He didn’t know whether to run or grab a weapon. So instead, he bought time. “Are you,” Tommy leaned forward to look at the note again, “Locke?”
The man stepped forward. “No. Locke is a partner. I am no one.” He took another step towards Tommy. “You are one of the chosen few, entrusted with a sacred gift. Before you lies special instruments.” The man stretched a hand over the table, “With them, you shall receive the gift of trading time for time.”
Tommy had no clue what the man was talking about. “Trade time for time? What do you mean?”
The man moved, circling to the other side of the table next to Tommy. “Time calls you by name. And you need time.”
Tommy locked onto the man’s eyes. The colors flickered like Tommy’s rock. They looked hopeful one second, then burdened the next.
The man continued, “The deal is simple. If you fix a moment of darkness, you will be granted the ability to alter your own timeline.”
Tommy looked away. Thoughts raced through his head.
Is he saying I can change my past? That would mean I could stop my brother before I jumped. Ask him!
“Would that mean—” the robed man cut Tommy off.
“Yes, Tommy,” he said. “If the interest is paid, that is, if you succeed, you will save your brother.” The man placed a knife on the table. The blade was black, and the handle was made of the same translucent rock the walls were made from. It had strange etchings on it, just like the table. “Use this knife to bind your contract with time. Sign your blood to the fabric of time before you. Once it is signed, place it on the pan of your choice. And that is all.”
The frequency that drew Tommy to this strange place re-emerged. He felt like he was being drawn to the right side of the scale, the pan with more linen, yet still appearing lighter.
Tommy looked up. “Who are you again?” But the man was no longer in the room. He was on the other side of the glass for a brief moment before he was gone completely.
The frequency grew louder. Without giving much thought to it, Tommy picked up the knife. Then, he looked up. The stone table now had inscriptions on it. Under the left pan read, what has not. Under the right pan read, what has been.
Tommy was unsure which one to choose, but then he reminded himself of what the man said, She’s telling you her preference. So that would mean the right pan.
Tommy lowered the blade to his palm. Just as it was about to pierce his skin, he stopped.
Wait a minute. I’ll gladly try and transcend time. But I’m not about to get tetanus from some old knife.
Tommy placed the knife on the table. Then reached down, ripped a scab off his knee, and mopped up the blood with the piece of linen.
“There we go. Much safer.”
The blood that soaked into the linen started as a tiny drop. But then, it moved along the threads in all directions like a lit fuse. The linen shone with white light until the blood stopped moving, revealing a strange design on the fabric. What formed wasn’t letters or numbers but a pattern of connected red dots similar to Braille. When he looked up at the other pieces in the pan, he noticed they all had a complex pattern, yet with their own unique design. He also noticed the hourglass had nearly stopped…just like the rest of the room. The pulsing veins on both walls nearly froze in motion. Even the frequency changed course. It no longer sounded like it was reaching outward. It now sounded like it was sucking inward like a warped reversal. Whispering voices infiltrated his eardrums. Haunting cries for help. Pleading. Begging. Screaming in terror.
What are you doing, man? Snap out of it!
He dropped the bloodied fabric on the stone table. The frequency pierced his ears, urging him to continue. The veins on both walls turned blood red as claw marks scraped down the outside of the wall. And the voices now shouted in varying pitches, turning the cave into one big chamber of madness. But the voice in his head told him to RUN! And run he did—back through the trench to the bottom of the well.
The frequency from the cave grew louder, angrier, demanding he return. This only made Tommy move faster as he scaled up the well’s wall with the speed of a rock climber. When he approached the top—BOOM! Either someone threw a stick of dynamite down the well, or lightning landed within a few feet of Tommy.
BOOM! Again and again.
Confirmed. It was lightning, not striking off in the distance, but directly near Tommy. He turned to the bottom of the well. The frequency missiled upwards, piercing his ears. Tommy looked up again. Stuck between mayhem, he reached for the last peg and flipped over the top of the well onto land once again.
The peaceful river island Tommy left when he entered the well had changed. Now, it was a tropical hurricane. Rapid lightning flashed, sheets of rain poured, and the wind was strong enough to uproot the oldest trees. Tommy grabbed his backpack at camp and ran for his life, zig-zagging, rolling, diving, dodging the lightning, as he made his way to the abandoned office building on the southern part of the island.
And by the grace of God, he somehow made it.
He slammed the door. Locked it. Then collapsed into it, sliding lower until he sat on the ground. It felt like being stuck in the middle of a warzone, getting bombed by fighter pilots using the bombs produced many years ago in these same mills. He buried his face in his hands. Nearly hyperventilating. Slowly lowering his heart rate until his chest stopped pounding out of his shirt.
Am I now cursed here forever?
This was his recurring question. He couldn’t reason how this was happening, but he knew it wasn’t a coincidence. This was the consequence of refusing to comply.
He pushed his doom aside and stood up to explore his immediate options. And they were bleak. He made use of what was in the room and in his backpack: one blanket, a few candles with matches, some granola and jerky, and a jug of water.
The first ten minutes inside this small field office mirrored the next two days: nothing on the outside changed.
Day one was an eternity. Perpetual chaos. Any peaceful moment, any hopeful thought, was eviscerated as lightning struck what felt like the roof. His heart rate remained panicked. His thoughts, hopeless. The guttural realization that he stumbled upon something he shouldn’t have. Was this a curse born from all the previous river horrors? Or was this punishment for daring his brother to jump off that bridge? Nothing made sense. On at least five occasions, Tommy placed his finger into the candle’s flame just to prove he wasn’t dreaming.
Day two was different.
Tommy had exhausted all thoughts of despair on day one. It was impossible to reconcile what was happening, so he stopped trying. The siege outside, as uncanny as it sounded, had become more like background noise than a cause for concern.
He even had a moment of tranquility as he read Kaleb’s copy of Legends of the Ohio Valley under candlelight. He felt like a time traveler, stuck in different eras without technology, pitted against Mother Nature and some unknown force. These legends didn’t scare him. This river was a force, inviting opportunity and prosperity. However, right behind good fortune creeps tragedy and malice. And when Tommy came to this realization, he once again heard the calling from the bottom of the well. It snuck between the rain and the lightning and went straight into his gut. He now clearly understood that the storm was unnatural. If it wanted him dead, he would have never made it out of the well. As strange as it sounded, he knew he could trust what was happening. The robed man knew him by name. He said that Tommy was chosen specifically for this. It wasn’t just about his brother. It was for something more. And now Tommy knew what he had to do.
He had to go back.
This time, he didn’t run. His sense of urgency was calmed by the frequency reaching out to him. He jogged to the northern part of the island at a leisurely pace. And the lightning accommodated him, striking farther away the closer he approached the well.
Soon enough, he was back in the middle of the river at the crystal cave.
Like before, the words materialized on the stone table: what has not under the left pan of the scale and what has been under the right pan. He picked up the piece of linen with his blood on it and placed it into the right pan. The scale, despite the right pan holding more pieces of linen, instantly balanced.
The golden veins inside the right cave wall expanded, multiplying, reaching out like neurons. A loud CRACK rang out as the golden veins shot out into the left wall, consuming the blue veins. The entire cave was transformed into a golden network of synapses firing in constant motion.
It was celestial, like watching a star being born. The veins multiplied until the entire room radiated in shimmering, golden light.
After quite some time, Tommy returned to reality. The light pulsed, but it no longer grew. The frequency returned. This time it was at the entrance to the cave. Tommy knew it was time to leave.
As he made his way to the tunnel, he felt something strange on his eye. It was hair.
What?
He ran his hands over his head. It was no longer shaven like before. He now had a full head of hair.
What is going on?
When he went to feel his hair again, he noticed something else. He now had long sleeves, prompting him to look at the rest of his clothes. He looked as old as sin, dressed head to toe as if he were from the 1800s.
His mind spiraled through a hundred questions, finally settling on one: “What is at the top of the well?”
He raced through the tunnel where rays of sunshine illuminated the bottom of the well. Peg by peg, he quickly scaled to the top of the well.
When he peeked his head out, he scared a red-tailed hawk perched on the well’s cover. It launched into the cloudless, summer sky, showing no signs that a storm had just swept through. Tommy followed it with his eyes until he was blinded by the sun cresting over the hills in the west.
Tommy looked around him. He was standing on an entirely different island.
Where am I?!
