Charlotte, Harold, and Leah are working the fields under the perpetually starry skies when they notice a distant figure approaching from the direction of the tower.
Harold rises. “That’s her.”
Charlotte looks. She can’t discern much detail from this distance. Putting her tools down, she starts walking. As her curiosity mounts, her feet move her faster and faster.
The Archetype is of Charlotte’s height and approximate build. She wears a long robe of gray linen, with a hood that drapes across her shoulders. Her hair, of the same color and texture as Charlotte’s own, is done in a French braid, likewise draped across one shoulder. Most curiously her face is covered in a wooden mask, with eye-holes that reveal nothing behind them, and no sign of what actually keeps the mask on her face. Then again, natural law seems slippery in this place. Perhaps gravity is only present when it’s convenient?
One year ago, Charlotte and Summer tracked down Doctor Infinity - who turned out to be a much older version of Pneuma, Summer’s original identity. She has met other Charlottes, but not felt such a gulf of power and age between them as she does now.
Is this how Summer felt?
That meeting happened in “227 - The Magic Kingdom” – Ed.
Still, she is full of important questions. She must be polite, but her curiosity and uncertainty drive her past protocol. “Perhaps this introduction is superfluous, but my name is Charlotte Palmer. May I ask who you are, and what you know of this place where we find ourselves?”
The woman’s voice is strangely like Charlotte’s, strangely not. “Call me the Archetype. I did not create this place. I merely make my home here. I am the regina sacrorum, the queen of sacrifices and sacred things.”
The name comes to Charlotte from her studies. “A priestess by political appointment, from the Roman system,” she says.
The Archetype gives a slight nod. “Come with me. Now that you are here, it is time to speak.”
She raises a hand and gestures to Leah and Harold, who have been watching from afar. They start jogging down the hill as the Archetype turns and walks. Charlotte follows.
The Garuda streaks across the Atlantic Ocean. It’s night, so the window shutters are open and Vermillion can finally look at the sights without the sun burning him up.
“The purity of the ocean water may do me in, even if the sun does not,” he jokes weakly. “Thank God for pollution, or there would be no vacation destination for me.”
Maury Jones is taking notes on a paper notepad. “Bundle of sunshine, aren’t ya,” she grins, and pokes him in the arm with her pencil.
“At least I need not fear the wooden stake you wield,” smirks the vampire.
The lights of a city rise out of the ocean, displacing the moon’s diaphanous reflection on the water. “Mindelo,” announces Mini-Jason. “We’re in the nation of Cape Verde. It’s an island archipelago to the west of Africa.”
Manny recognizes the nearest island from its outlines as the flying wing approaches. “Aye this, be São Vicent. The Portuguese settled here, and the African slave trade found its way through the islands. That be why the Cap’n and others come here - to steal the stolen wealth, and to free men of their chains. Even Cap’n Francis Drake sacked Santiago more’n a century prior.”
Mini-Jason examines the readout on the Garuda’s dashboard. “Says here they’re mostly doing touring and fishing these days.”
The skull smirks, as much as any skull is able. “More palatable pursuits, to their credit.”
Manny’s memories lead them to a volcano on one of the southern islands, called Pico de Fogo. Night works to the team’s advantage. While the archipelago is remote, it is still inhabited. It probably wouldn’t do to have a lot of people asking questions. Coffee beans are grown on the mountain’s slopes, and even now there are lights from some of the houses along the beaches.
As before, there’s a cave system. This time, the group finds themselves at a dead end. Rock has collapsed the tunnel they were following.
“An earthquake happened in 1847,” Mini-Jason offers. “Maybe it happened then?”
Bodark steps forward to try his strength against the stone, but Daph holds up a hand to halt his progress.
“I got this,” she announces, with an edge of anger in her voice.
She draws back a fist, stabilizing her breathing. “For the people that were taken. For the souls that were forgotten here. To be remembered is its own revenge.”
Her punch does more than shatter the rock. A burst of energy fills the whole shaft, blinding everyone for just a moment. When sight returns, it’s clear that Equity hasn’t just cleared the block here, but the entire path.
The troupe resumes its travels into the heart of the volcano, to learn what secrets the pirates of old left for them to find.
The Archetype’s tower is built in an old style, but shows no sign of disrepair.
The interior is appointed in a variety of styles drawn from a variety of eras. There is a fireplace and a wood stove, on which a tea kettle rests, ready for use. There are wooden book cases of many shapes and sizes, groaning under the weight of the many books packed tightly on shelf after shelf. There are 20th century electric lamps that seem to have no power plugs. There is even an iPod connected to a set of speakers. The device was discontinued during Charlotte’s time in the 21st century, but she recognizes it.
“Is this the Timeless Tower?” Charlotte asks.
The question is abrupt, and she knows it. But it must be asked. She has traveled far and lost much. And here is someone who by all rights ought to be cooperative. That is what she tells herself, at least. That is what she hopes, because there is nothing else on which to hang any hope right now.
The Archetype’s face can’t be seen, but the sides of her head, her jawline, and other peripheries are visible. What Charlotte cannot see but knows is behind the mask is a smile.
“That is as fine a name as any for it, I suppose.”
She moves to a particular book case and pries a book out of the tightly packed line on one shelf. It opens of its own accord, with the easy familiarity of an oft-consulted passage. The text is for Charlotte to read, apparently, because the Archetype begins reciting from it without even looking down.
“A man inherited a field in which was an accumulation of old stone, part of an older hall. Of the old stone some had already been used in building the house in which he actually lived, not far from the old house of his fathers. Of the rest he took some and built a tower. But his friends coming perceived at once (without troubling to climb the steps) that these stones had formerly belonged to a more ancient building.”
“So they pushed the tower over, with no little labour, and in order to look for hidden carvings and inscriptions, or to discover whence the man’s distant forefathers had obtained their building material. Some suspecting a deposit of coal under the soil began to dig for it, and forgot even the stones. They all said: ‘This tower is most interesting.’ But they also said (after pushing it over): ‘What a muddle it is in!’”
“And even the man’s own descendants, who might have been expected to consider what he had been about, were heard to murmur: ‘He is such an odd fellow! Imagine using these old stones just to build a nonsensical tower! Why did not he restore the old house? he had no sense of proportion.’ But from the top of that tower the man had been able to look out upon the sea.”
The Archetype rests a pair of affectionate fingers on the open book, just for a moment. “A philologist and author wrote that about Beowulf and its literary critics. But it is true of memory as well. Is not poetry and literature a way to distribute memories across space and time?”
Charlotte smiles to herself. “And Manny’s tattoos,” she says softly.
The Archetype nods again. “This is important, because memories are fickle things while in living minds. We experience, we retain, but when we recall we also reshape. Our memories are twisted to serve new purposes. Nostalgia. Self-justification. Comfort. But the original feelings remain, buried beneath the rubble we leave behind during such work.”
She turns to look at Harold and Leah for a moment, then back to Charlotte. “This place exists in parallel to time. In the worlds you come from, you experience time linearly. Here, there is no distinction between past and future. Memory and prophecy are indistinguishable.”
She raises her hands, gesturing around her at the tower’s interior. “I’ve found it useful in my redecoration efforts.”
A memory comes to Charlotte. She turns to Leah. “You… your Hula Hoop was pointed at an angle, you said. From pedestrians to a pursuing car, so that we could intercept the Eigendrakes.”
Leah Snow introduced this idea in “405 - Attack On the Multiverse!” – Ed.
She turns back to the Archetype. “Is that the truth of it?”
The Archetype tilts her head. “It is a glimpse of the truth. It is not what this place truly is, but you may think of it as such. Perhaps a demonstration…”
She leads the way out of the tower, to the lake, and beckons Charlotte to look into the water. Her reflection, distorted by the gentle motion of the water, looks back up at her.
“You wished to know if this was the Timeless Tower,” the Archetype suggests gently. “Where did you hear that term? Think of it, and your reflection will be your conduit.”
The name was first introduced in “306 - The Dueling Duo” – Ed.
Charlotte thinks back. In the lake water, her reflection stands in her coffee shop, Half & Half, and listens as the newly arrived Bodark and Vermillion tell their stories. Somehow, the lapping of water on the shore carries the sound of the conversation to her ears. Or perhaps it’s that a part of her is really there, right now?
She listens to the stories a second time. And she recognizes with some uncertainty that how she recalls those stories is not how they are playing out in the water.
“A rusalka told them,” she says finally, recalling the term at the same time as she hears it. “A sort of Slavic mermaid. But I don’t know how she heard of it.”
“Find out,” invites the Archetype, gesturing.
Can I? Charlotte asks herself.
She tries.
The perspective shifts. Bodark and Vermillion walk backward out of Half & Half, as time reverses itself. It’s like watching a video played in reverse. Now that she has a frame of reference to understand the procedure, Charlotte wishes for the “playback” to accelerate. The reversed time moves faster and faster, and in seconds Charlotte has found herself watching the pair in Russia.
It feels like an intrusion. This Panopticon could let her spy on everything and everyone, anywhere or at any time she wished. Without repercussions?
She draws back from the water.
Sensing her reluctance, the Archetype waves her hand, and the lake returns to its prior state.
“This is why you are here, Charlotte Palmer,” says the mysterious woman, with a voice of authority Charlotte herself has often employed.
“You have learned the Eigendrakes are alternative versions of yourself. You wish to know how to handle them. This place is where you will learn that lesson.”
Charlotte looks up, deeply troubled. “How will I learn that?”
The Archetype’s shrug is faint, the twist of her hands subtle. “You must learn how to change your mind.”