A Million Bodies

  I am on the verge of giving up when I feel a hard, flat surface. My arms are dipped into the ivy, and I cannot see what I am touching. As I am trying to define its shape and size I sense a large block of stone slide under my hands. The ivy retreats around it, before dissolving away from the whole graveyard.

  And at ones all the graves are open before us, exhaling cold whiffs of unknown into the darkening night.

  Chapter 8

  Arthur and I simultaneously reach for each other's hand, and we head to one of the open graves, without speaking a word. We know that's the one, without knowing why.

  I am not ready to leap in but when we're no more than a foot away the grave swallows us, luring us into the narrow tunnel snaking within its intestines.

  The darkness is thick and damp, and the walls of the tunnel are covered in what feels as moss to the touch. A light current of air wraps around our bodies, whispering hollow words which echo in the enclosed space.

  As the tunnel twists in an indefinite number of circles, I lose count of the steps, turns and minutes we've walked for.

  The walls narrow around us as we push forward, our bodies covered in cold sweat. I feel dizzy. I tighten my grip on Arthur's hand, he replies with a squeeze. We shiver, our hands mingled in fear.

  And yet we've come too far to turn back just now.

  I need to know what's at the bottom of the tunnel. I need to find my answers. I move my feet in blind determination, till I am numb to the cold, the fear, the unbreathable air. At this point I could proceed forever, or collapse without realizing I've reached my end.

  I am close to collapsing but I don't.

  Instead, suddenly, the tunnel broadens and the air thins and the coldness subsides. Darkness dissipates into a dim, yellowish light, revealing a small wooden door, very old, and yet perfectly polished.

  Arthur looks at me, and I return his look with a smile, turning the knob of the door. It yields with the slightest squeak, and a library appears before us.

  Chapter 9

  I cannot define the library's size. It seems small at first, and yet, when I let my eyes run along the bookshelves, bottom to top, I realize they're endless.

  There's a solid oak table in the middle of the library, and I take a seat. A strange sense of comfort pervades me as I plunge on a cushioned chair.

  Arthur moves along the perimeter of the place, brushing the books with his hands as he walks, as if trying to connect with the place by making physical contact with its material essence.

  I look around instead, trying to capture the feelings the place inspires in me.

  At a point Arthur stops, his fingers tracing the profile of a book, lingering on it. My eyes transfixed on it, I suddenly picture myself in front of an ampoule filled with a bubbling rosy fluid, as filaments of smoke evolve from its neck.

  Why?

  "Take the book, Arthur," I say.

  Arthur turns around, slowly, and nods. He brings me the book, but when he is about to place it on the table his hands shake.

  I observe his unsettled movements with apprehension, unable to intervene.

  The book drops on the table and opens with a muffled thump, puffing clouds of dust from the yellowed pages.

  Arcane characters from a long gone past cover the large, thick pages. Standing behind me, Arthur leans forward and our eyes meet on the first line of page 999.

  In the year 1850 Iris Sigurdsson departed for a perilous expedition to find

  "To find something you are forbidden to learn," a voice thunders, shattering the muffled silence of the library.

  Chapter 10

  Distaste more than fear is what I feel when I hear the voice, and I turn around, spitefully, to identify its source.

  There's a man standing a couple of meters away from us, not tall but corpulent and opulent. His traits are distorted with anger.

  "Something I am forbidden to learn?" I repeat, "How so?"

  "You've always been a rebel, haven't you?" he replies.

  I observe him closely, trying to recall when we've met, but to no avail.

  "Always? Since when have you known me?" I ask.

  "Since always, although your dismal mind cannot grasp the concept. You see why you cannot learn-", he starts and stops abruptly as I return to the book, ignoring his words.

  In the year 1850 Iris Sigurdsson departed for a perilous expedition to find the key to the restoration of her father's authority, and of her family's longevity. Many enemies

  "Enough!" the man shouts without moving, and the book snaps close.

  Now I am frightened, but not enough to surrender. I sense the man's vulnerable side lurking under his thick flesh, his magic tricks.

  "Many enemies, says the book. From your attitude I gather you are one of them," I challenge him.

  He looks at me aggressively, his eyes bulging as if he could grab me with his mere gaze. Perhaps he can, but I know - for reasons I cannot explain - that he won't.

  I stare at him for a dilated instant, and I am about to give up trying to define identity when a forgotten image flashes back to my mind.

  "Uncle Ludwig?" I remember.

  Chapter 11

  I recognize Uncle Ludwig, but before I can patch my shreds of memories into a coherent scenery I feel sucked into a vortex of darkness.

  At once I can't breathe, I can't see, I can't escape the force rotating my body, piercing my ears, compressing my bones.

  I am trapped for no more than few instants, before the vortex regurgitates me, leaving me weakened but alive. I find myself lying beside Arthur, my arm resting on his chest. I feel it lift and fall, and I know he's alive too. It's moist around us, and I am sitting on something hard. I open my eyes, slowly.

  "Arthur?" I call, and Arthur replies with a snort.

  "Arthur, are you ok?" I ask.

  "Never been better," he replies, and I laugh, relieved that he hasn't lost his irony.

  My muscles relax and I gather the courage to try and characterize our surroundings.

  Water runs between the rocks surrounding us, and the place has the smell of salt and a faint odour of algae. We must be in a sea cave.

  To reach the land, wherever the land is, we can only count on our battered bodies. I should be worried, if not desperate, and yet I am not.

  Arthur's reaction is different, and as soon as he realizes where we are he says, "I wish we never stepped in that bloody time machine. It simply does not work."

  "I love it here," I reply, and I really do.

  The water, the promise of a revelation, of an unexpected turn: that's what I love, regardless of the risks our trip entails.

  "How do we get out?" he asks me.

  I pause to think, seeking an idea. I am about to stand up to inspect the cave to find an exit when the water begins to rise.

  "High tide," I comment, as the level of the water increases by the second, till it's up to our chests.

  I swim towards Arthur and tell him, "We'll be alright."

  "Can you sense the current?" he asks me.

  He seems calmer than before, as if he is surrendering to the ineluctability of the situation.

  I do sense the current, and as Arthur and I hold hands we float on it, let it carry us in the recesses of the cave, till we reach a pool of clear water bathing in a cascade of light coming from above. Stalactites hang from the rocky ceiling, and their crystalline features shimmer in the light, dispersing their sparkle on the placid surface of the pool. Through the transparent water I see rings of rock marking the depths of the pool. From top to bottom, the rings are white, light blue and yellow, before the pool closes into what appears to be a tunnel.

  "Arthur, I think that's the exit," I tell him.

  He looks up to detect where the light is coming from.

  "No, I mean that's the exit," I say, pointing at the bottom of the pool.

  Arthur stares at me, as if I had lost my mind.

  It's hit or miss, chances are we'll drown, but something tells me we won't.

/>   "Come on Arthur," I say, tugging his hand slightly.

  And so we plunge down into the tunnel, swimming in water so thin it could be air, in endless blue, holding our breath till we can't anymore.

  Lack of oxygen slows my movements and my thoughts dissolve in regret and guilt. I've failed Arthur. There's nothing I can do now.

  My vision darkens and I'm about to let go, but right then, in that split instant before complete surrender, something hits me as an electric shock after a heart failure.

  The brightness is so full it hurts, my eyes are wide open and yet I cannot see.

  Chapter 12

  The bedroom is inundated by the Californian sun, and the clock on the bed side table says, 3 p.m.

  Arthur is beside me, an arm folded over his eyes to shield them from the light.

  "What time is it?" he mumbles.

  3 p.m., I tell him, freeing my body from the sheets in which it is twisted and slowly making my way to the bathroom.

  "Gosh," he says, suddenly awake, sitting up abruptly.

  I take some time to shower and recollect my thoughts, and 30 minutes later I return to the bedroom with a smile and some peace of mind.

  Arthur is sitting on the bed, in the same position in which I left him.

  "We need to perfect the time machine," he tells me.

  "That's why we tested it," I reply calmly.

  "We risked never coming back," he says, lowering his eyes, almost talking to himself.

  "I had a discussion about this with you" I start and pause.

  "What do you mean with 'about this'?" Arthur asks.

  I have a vague recollection of an office, of Arthur, of us engaging into a debate about time and space, of us remembering a door.

  "You and I have met before," I tell him.

  Before or after?

  Arthur gives me a confused look.

  "We need to perfect the time machine, yes. And you know why?" I say.

  "I must find my answers, and I can't find them here," I continue, without waiting for his answer.

  "Where have we been, Iris?" he asks me after a moment.

  "You really don't remember?" I want to know.

  "I remember what I believe I've seen. But where was it? And was it just a place existing outside of us or was it rather our shared fantasy?" Arthur replies.

  I have no answers to these questions.

  "Let's go back into the time machine. Now," I decide abruptly.

  "No," Arthurs objects.

  "Yes," I insist.

  He gets up, laces my hands with his.

  "Iris?" he says.

  We're not in the time machine, we're here, in our bedroom, in the real light of a real Californian summer.

  Or so I believe till the room begins to melt, and Arthur's features dissolve and the light dims and I hear a repeated sound, irritating and familiar.

  When I turn to the side I realize that I am in bed, alone, and my alarm clock reads 7 a.m.

  Chapter 13

  I take a long shower and a hasty breakfast, and off I go, rushing to my practical chemistry class.

  "The other day you learned about titrations in class with Professor Zimmerman. Today we are going to see how titrations work in practice?"

  Our instructor Thomas Lovecraft speaks and I look around the lab, my focus shifting away from him. I run my eyes along the glassware, looking at the beakers, the graduated cylinders, and the pipettes neatly aligned beside the sink. Then, suddenly, my attention is captured by a distillation apparatus hooked onto a large glass ampoule. In it bubbles a pinkish liquid exuding heavy vapours, which collect in the coils of a distillation column and fall into a flask.

  'Experiment in progress, please do not remove - Kathrine', says a note lying in front of the device.

  I've never used this set-up, and yet I know how to. I think, I know what it's meant for, I used it to make potions. The thought darts though my mind, and I formulate it without being able to decipher it.

  "You will work in groups of two, so feel free to choose your partner. I'll hand you an instruction sheet, which recaps?" Lovecraft keeps speaking on the background.

  I will need salts and alcohol and at least one aldehyde. I will need to heat them and let them bubble till the sand will flow through the neck of a large hourglass twice, before initiating the distillation. I recite the recipe in my head, the echo of my memories silencing the instructor's voice.

  "Iris, are you with us?" the instructor asks me.

  I am not.

  "Iris?" he repeats, and this time the eyes of 30 fellow students looking my way draw my attention.

  "Yes I am. My apologies," I reply.

  "Ok, so pick a partner and let's get started," he tells me, giving me an odd look.

  The rest of the students busy themselves finding a partner, and I cease to be the focal point of their attention.

  I hesitate, detached from the diligent crowd surrounding me. Lovecraft is about to address me again when someone approaches me.

  "I'm Kathrine," she says.

  I look at the distillation set-up, at the note signed Kathrine sitting in front of it.

  "I'm helping a grad student," she explains.

  Something in her is familiar, and I scrutinize her features in an attempt to retrieve the origin of my perception.

  "And well, I also happen to do some interesting work on the side," she adds smiling.

  I am about to ask for an explanation when she raises her index and places it on her lips.

  "Patience, Iris," she says.

  How does she know my name? Oh yes, the instructor called me by name earlier.

  "Patience," she repeats, before adding, "I have the keys to the lab, let's meet here at midnight."

  Chapter 14

  The bottles of salts, alcohol and glyoxal, our aldehyde, shed oblong shadows on the bench. Working in the main lab would be too risky, and so we conceal our activities in the chemical storage room, in the dim light of a table lamp.

  "Kathrine, I've never seen you before-" I start.

  "Yes you have," she interrupts me, smiling.

  "I feel like we've met, not here at the university though. But then where?" I ask.

  "You've always been impatient and undisciplined. Just like me," she tells me, still smiling.

  "Always? How do you know?" I ask.

  "You have to be patient Iris", she replies, instead of answering my question.

  I am about to formulate another question but then I desist, and we work in silence for a while, side by side.

  "Do you remember what you're preparing?" Kathrine asks me after a while.

  I shake my head no.

  "What did you tell yourself this morning when you saw the distillation unit?" she prods me.

  "That I knew how to use it," I remember.

  Kathrine nods encouragingly.

  "Yes, and what else?" she insists.

  I hesitate for a moment, before the thought flashes back to my mind with the same abruptness with which it surprised me this morning.

  I know what it's meant for, I used it to make potions.

  "Yes, we're making a potion," Kathrine says, enunciating my unspoken words.

  Then she pauses, and her eyes grip mine. There's love, sorrow and regret in her gaze, creased by an old woman's wisdom. Removing the nitrile gloves she cups my face and says, "My child."

  I start to sob with a buried grief I cannot explain. Then the words speak themselves through my voice.

  One potion to restore the consciousness of all, one potion to know what's behind that door before it opens, one potion to let the glorious tree of the noble family live eternal.

  "One potion to restore your own consciousness, one potion to know what's behind the door you'll open, one potion to find the tree of your true family," Kathrine echoes, rephrasing my words.

  Her face shivers through my tears.

  "Now drink," she tells me, handing me the fluid we just produced.

  A pinkish liquid sits in the beaker
, filaments of smoke exhaling from its translucent surface. I swirl it around for an instant, then I close my eyes and drink.

  Chapter 15

  I might be walking home. Perhaps I've already reached home, and I'm lying on my bed. I think I've closed the door. All is blurred though, and what has happened, what is happening now, what I will do next seems beyond my control.

  The potion. I remember the potion.

  And I was with?Kathrine.

  Mother.

  Kathrine is mother.

  "You finally recognize me, my child," mother says.

  Mother is dressed in a long black dress. She is smiling, but her traits are tired, her eyes filled with sadness.

  "Mother?" I say, and motion towards her, arms open, needing her long lost embrace.

  I am small now, and when we hug my face plunges into the softness of her belly. That's how small I am.

  Mother smells of lavender, and I wish I could melt away into her pacifying aura, losing my identity.

  And yet I can't. Mother pulls me away from her and says, "You must listen now, child, and you must remember."

  I nod, tears suddenly pooling in my eyes.

  "Tragedy haunted the royal family to which you belong. Your father the King once came to me to seek remedy, and I gave him the very best of me. I gave him you, my child. For nine months the Queen remained hidden to conceal the truth about your birth to the world," she starts and pauses.

  "Will you remember?" she asks, holding my shoulders, and I nod yes.

  "Tragedy kept haunting your family, is still does," she continues.

  I frown, I do not understand.

  "Tragedy is haunting my family?now?" I ask anguished.

  "Yes tragedy keeps haunting the royal family, which will always be your family, even when you will no longer know," mother tells me.

  I still don't understand.

  "You must go back to the monastery, that's where the key is," she says.

  "But-" I try to object.

  "You must find the key, child. Remember me, child, I will visit you again," she tells me.

  I want to ask what she means, seek guidance, but as soon as mother ends her sentence she starts to dissolve and at once she's gone.

  I stare at the point in space where she was, unable to move, chocked by the lump in my throat.

  I am still immobile when suddenly a hand grabs me, shakes me, and I scream, the hands shakes me harder and someone calls my name over and again, with desperate intensity.

  Iris, Iris, Iris?

  Chapter 16

  "Iris," I hear again, and opening my eyes I see Professor Arthur Miles, bent over me, frowning and flustered.