The Watchtower

grave.
    Tears stung my eyes like pinpricks. His grave. He was dead then. He had come here to find a way to be alive and he had died. For me. He had come here and risked this place that was no place for me.
    No, no, no, the reeds cried, beating against me. For himself, for himself, for himself …
    But I shook them off and stepped in the direction the stone pointed. The reeds threw themselves at me in a frenzy, but I pushed on, holding my arms up to shield my face from their assault. It was like swimming upstream while being attacked by piranhas. The reeds lashed at my arms like machetes and twined themselves around my ankles like snakes. We are snakes, a reedy voice whimpered, but the voice was weak. I ignored it and kept going. All I could see was his grave. I wasn’t even sure who he was, but I knew that he had come here willing to die for me and I couldn’t let him lie alone in that grave unmourned.
    I fell out of the reeds onto hard, stony ground, my momentum tumbling me down a rocky incline. I rolled in a blur of dirt and rocks, down and down until I crashed into something hard. Then I lay still, every part of my body throbbing with pain.
    Every part of my body except my right hand.
    I opened my eyes and saw that I was surrounded by tall, looming figures in gray robes. No, not figures—stones—a circle of nine standing stones that I felt I had seen earlier. Even when I’d identified the objects as stones, though, the feeling of being surrounded by interested spectators didn’t dissipate. I sat up, keeping a wary eye on the stones, half afraid that they would close in on me if I tried to move out of the circle, but they remained still and impassive … only … hadn’t there been nine of them when I first opened my eyes? I counted them. There were eight. I must have imagined the ninth one. The stones couldn’t move. Could they? And if one had moved, where would it go? The sky, still mottled purple and blue like a bruise, gave enough light to illuminate the entire valley I’d fallen into, and I was alone in it. The only spot I couldn’t see fully was the area under the stone arch—the passage that led into the hill … the tomb. Yes, that’s what it was. I’d come through the reeds to reach the tomb because I knew he was here—even though I still couldn’t quite remember who he was. I could see a face carved out of black stone and I knew he was dead and that he had come here for me … but the order of those things was confused. I had the distinct impression that he had died before coming here for me, but then maybe that was because time didn’t flow straight here. Just as the light seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, so time flowed here in ripples and eddies with no beginning and no end.
    And if that was so, how could he be dead?
    I looked into the dark passage. It gaped blackly, like an open mouth waiting to swallow me.
    Something here could eat me, someone had told me that. I could feel fear flowing out of the black hole like a stream of cold air. I wanted to turn and run back to the reeds to lose myself in them again. I could do that. I would forget everything in the reeds. Eventually I would forget him, and wouldn’t that be better if he was dead?
    I took a step backward, afraid to turn my back on that blackness, and another. The chill wind coming out of the hole dissipated. If I kept moving back, I could get away and eventually I would forget …
    But I didn’t want to forget. I took a step forward and felt the cold streaming out of the hole. The cold of the grave. I took two more steps into that stream and felt the cold envelop me. I was shaking all over by the time I reached the arch; every muscle in my body wanted to flee in the other direction, but I stepped over the threshold into the dark.
    I touched one hand to each side of the stone arch. The stone felt icy, but that was better than when, several steps later, my fingers touched nothing. The stone arch opened up into a larger chamber beneath the mound. I could feel the space widening, but I still couldn’t see anything. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t walk into that blackness …
    But then I remembered that I didn’t have to. I raised my right hand and snapped my fingers. They were shaking so badly it took three tries, but on the third try a flame appeared at the tip of my thumb. I held it up and a high-domed chamber leaped into fitful light. The walls were covered with the painted figures of animals and men, and