John Schettler - Anvil of Fate

Kelly awoke, the sweat and torment of his nightmare still shaking him. It was the same dream again, echoing in his mind and dogging his sleep for three nights now. He had been working late at the USF Harney Science Center Arion system to finalize the numbers for their planned Time jump. They were going to see a Shakespeare play, the Tempest, but the news he heard on the radio as he drove back across the Bay Bridge changed all that.

Then he stopped near that 7-11 store when he got to the East Bay. Unable to find his cell phone, he was going to make a call to warn the project team. At that moment he thought he saw an old man in a gray trench coat stepping boldly in front of his car, but he blinked and no one was there. Kelly got out and, an instant later, a car came cascading around the street corner, skidding on the rain slick pavement. He was hit, and thrown against the metal pole of a nearby street sign, falling in a daze to the ground.

He could still remember the sound of music playing from the open door of his car Never stop the car on a drive in the dark. Porcupine Tree: Arriving somewhere, but not here. He knew the music well, and it echoed now in his mind at the edge of that fading dream. An odd sensation of dj vu came upon him, woven amid the guitars of the band. The lyric seemed to mock him: Ever had the feeling you've been here before?

He shook himself awake, chasing the dream from his mind. The pre-dawn light had awakened him, as always, and he was suddenly driven with great urgency. He had to get up and greet the dawn for morning prayers!

He gathered his robes around him, warding off the morning chill and stood up on unsteady legs. A moment later he was out of his quarters, and shuffling down the long stone passage towards a doorway. His guardian and minder, Assam, smiled with a yawn and made a respectful bow.

Falaq, the dawn is come, said Kelly, nodding back. The man made no effort to impede him, but followed quietly behind as Kelly hurried on down the corridor, out the door, and into the courtyard beyond. He breathed in the clean, cool morning air, amazed at the clarity of the lightening sky as he emerged from the rightmost front paw of the Sphinx shrine. Just ahead of him, starkly silhouetted against the sky, was the telltale shape of a Pyramid. He hastened to its edge, quickly climbing the stairs to the top.

In the distance he could hear the call of the Muezzin, beckoning the faithful to their first morning prayer. He was late, and had forgotten to wash and bring his prayer mat, but no matter. He would reach the top of the pyramid in time, breathless after his climb, but safely there and with minutes to spare. He took a moment to compose himself, then walked slowly to the center of the Pyramid and knelt to make his first bow in respectful prayer.

Falaq The Dawn is come, he began. In the name of God the most gracious, the most merciful. I seek refuge with the Lord of the Dawn.

From the mischief of created things, came a voice from behind him. He looked back, expecting to see his minder, but instead it was Hamza, the scribe and curator of this complex.

From the mischief of darkness as it overspreads, said Kelly, and from the mischief of those who practice secret arts.

And from the mischief of the envious one, as he practices envy. Hamza bowed low, joining Kelly, close by his side now.

Then let us rise in the protection of Allah, and greet the day, Kelly finished just as the blazoning sun cleared the horizon, illuminating the vast, empty desert around them with tawny yellow light.

The two men watched in silence for a while, then bowed low before Hamza spoke again. Ra comes in his endless round, to rise into the sky and take his place in the firmament. Such is the way our distant ancestors understand things. They knew nothing of Allah, praise his name, and the true creed delivered by Mohammed, peace be upon him, will not come to the world for millennia. Yet come it will, and I am here to make certain it stays.

Kelly smiled. It is a beautiful day, he said. Will you be working the wall again today, Hamza?

As I must, said the scribe. You may join me if you wish, and we can have another of our discussions concerning the record of days.

Youve finished your carving of the age of the Prophet, yes? Its amazing the progress you have made in recent months. What is the story today then?

Hamza smiled. I recount the time of the Banu Umayyah, the Sons of Umayyah to say this in your words. Some of my people call this Caliphate the Great Red Dragon, having seven heads and ten hornsseven provinces and ten mighty rulers. The Prophet himself can trace his blood line through the sire of the sons of Umayyah. It was truly a great Caliphate, one of the largest empires the world has ever seen, and it might have been so much greater were it not for a misstep by the Emir Abdul Rahman.

Youre talking about the Umayyads? You mean when Abdul Rahman ran afoul of Charles Martel? Yes, Id call that a misstep. Charles made short work of him at Tours.

Ah, you are willful again! Hamza smiled. We do not see the history quite that way, he explained. It is described as a great victory for the forces of Christendom by your scribes. In accounts of my people, however, the matter was not so threaded with gold. The legend of your Frankish lord is overblown. As it is written in our time, the faithful pierced the mountains, trampled over rough and level ground, plundered far and wide in the country of the Franks, smiting all with the sword, insomuch that when Odo came to battle with them at the River Garonne, he fled before the wrath of Islam. So it begins.

Yes, but it didnt end that way, Kelly challenged, and Hamza held up a hand, nodding his head in a slight concession.

The great Emir Abdul Rahman was careless, to be sure, he said, and his men too worrisome over the fruits of their plunder. I have had many deliveries in recent days, and must complete this work in due course. And I will inscribe it diligently and faithfully, so that this misstep may be corrected. Come. Will you join me? Undoubtedly you will have much to say about the period.

Undoubtedly, said Kelly.

He lingered a moment as he watched Hamza walk back toward the stairway, half way expecting to feel that lightness of being and the frosty chill that made the cool morning air seem balmy by comparison. But nothing happened. He had been many long months here now. The last time he felt that intense cold of infinity was the moment just after he met the scribe and walked out with him to face the place where Mecca would rise up in ages hence. He remembered how Hamza thought to prepare him for the fate that awaited him.