The Island of Echoes: A Novel Read online

  “There,” Travert pointed. I followed his finger to what looked like the golden thread of a beach. It was small, but it would serve us well.

  We began to turn starboard to make for the spot when something above me caught my eye. I looked to the top of the stony cliff. It was pure white and it almost blended in with the fog entirely, but there could be no doubt that at the edge of the precipice stood a great ancient temple. Eight massive columns rose up out of the mist to a classic triangular roof. I was too far below to make out any of the carvings but the building looked impeccably preserved.

  “Look!” I exclaimed, and my companions spotted the structure. It loomed over us, commanding both awe and respect.

  “What in heavens!” the captain bellowed. “Why, I’ve never seen anything like it!”

  “The Greek isles don’t have a building like this?” Lady Pearson asked.

  “Unless it was built in the last few weeks, certainly not. I know Greece like I know my own hand and I’ve never seen this building before.”

  Rémy looked uncomfortable. It appeared we were all in uncharted waters.

  “Well let’s head there after we land,” Father Daniel suggested. “It might be a good place to start.”

  “Right” Travert agreed, and we continued to paddle toward the beach. I stole several more glances at the temple. It faded in and out of the fog until we got so close to the cliff that I could see it no longer.

  Rémy jumped out of the boat as we approached shore and pulled it onto the sand. The beach did not extend far, perhaps half a mile, before it was cut off by another rocky outcrop. The rest of our party stepped out and we dragged the little vessel into the trees beyond the shoreline. Dense foliage covered the steep terrain in all directions. We had to grip tree branches as we made our ascent up the slippery rocks. The heavy fog moistened everything around us and the world felt cold and wet to the touch.

  Ella appeared strong and lithe despite her constricting garments but the same could not be said of her grandmother. Lady Pearson had many difficulties getting up the slope. I suspected she was in her late sixties. I imagine she was also a stranger to physical exertion. But whether out of pride or determination, she kept her struggles quiet.

  I suppose it took us over an hour to make it to the top of the cliff. The edge of the precipice was no less than two hundred feet above the sea. The provisions trunk, which Rémy and I carried together, added to the delay. The ground leveled off at the top and we were able to walk freely. The grass was thick and green underfoot and I saw elegant trees scattered throughout the open field.

  The imposing temple stood some distance away, its large shape outlined in the mist, and we walked there in silence like moths attracted to flame. We soon spotted a road coming up from somewhere farther inland. It curved toward the temple and led right up to the front steps. The path appeared to be fashioned of granite cobblestones. They ranged in colors from maroon to terra-cotta, creating a patchy texture of assorted red hues. They were perfectly level and tightly fitted, as if the road had been built the day prior.

  But we realized the stones were something else entirely when we stepped onto the path. They were not wholly solid and shifted with our weight, depressing ever so slightly as we walked. Our footfalls seemed to marginally bend the walkway only for it to return to its original state after we stepped off. Rémy bent to pick at the substance, though it would not come apart. It was grained and textured just like stone but its elemental properties befuddled us. Moreover, why anyone would construct such a road was a mystery.

  We followed the elastic path to the temple. It was a great deal larger than I had judged. It stood on a rectangular base almost twice my height, with dozens of wide steps leading up the front. The columns, Corinthian in design, circled the entire building and stretched far into the heavens. I estimated them to be about seventy feet tall. The roof was covered in beautiful red tiles which seemed to shimmer in the moist air.

  “The Greeks didn’t build their temples on bases this high,” I informed the group. “This structure must be Roman. It reminds me of the Maison Carrée in France, though so much grander. However, the columns encircle the entire building and that’s a Greek feature.”

  “It must be fairly new,” Ella determined aloud. “The stone doesn’t appear weatherworn at all.”

  “Perhaps this is an ancient building which was only recently restored?” Rémy offered.

  “I know of no such building,” the captain rebuked gently, “though without knowing our location, my expertise may lie far from here.”

  The perimeter of the temple roof was intricately carved, though none of the designs contained writing. The reliefs featured people, dressed in ancient tunics, reading scrolls and talking. I noticed that some of the craftsmanship was rather poor. Although the faces were life-like and magnificently realized, the tunics and togas lacked the flowing waves and ripples demonstrated in other works of ancient sculpture.

  I decided to climb to the entrance. The front of the structure did not face the sea, but was located at the opposite side. At least thirty steps, broad and polished, led up the rectangular base. Its doors, corresponding to the rest of the building, were likewise colossal. They looked to be bronze, perhaps thirty-five feet tall, and each had five highly ornamented square panels upon its face.

  When I reached the top of the steps, I noticed the most peculiar feature of the temple yet. What I thought was a band of darker stone encircling the inner building turned out to be glass. The stone architecture sat on a wall of solid glass, ten feet tall, broken only by the bronze doors at the front. I peered through the transparent wall. It was thinner than I expected and did not distort the interior. The vast hall within appeared clean and polished, though completely void of any furniture. An intricate mosaic floor was the only ornamentation.

  I called to my companions and they joined me at the top of the base. We marveled at the engineering miracle before us. How such a piece of glass could be constructed was beyond any of us. The more we examined the structure, the more I realized I had a knot in my stomach. The sight of land initially filled me with relief. The temple, though a mystery in locale, was supposed to be a refuge, a tourist spot from which we could secure transportation. Now that we reached it, it somehow seemed more foreign than anything I had encountered on my previous travels.

  “Whatever this building is, it looks well-kept,” Travert observed. “I propose we make camp here and wait for daylight to assess our position.”

  Rémy walked over to the doors and grabbed one of the ringed handles. No matter how hard he pushed or pulled, the doors would not budge. “I guess we are camping outside,” he concluded.

  Our provisions crate was well-stocked. It included plenty of food and beer, some of the ship’s medicine, extra clothing, two large linen tarps, a lantern, and several blankets. We spread one of the blankets on the turf and ate hungrily. I don’t think any of us realized how famished we were until that point.

  I glanced at my pocket watch. It was past seven. Sunset was fast approaching and we hadn’t eaten since the previous night. Even Lady Pearson couldn’t criticize the lack of decorum as she tore at the bread with her hands.

  Travert removed an old map from his leather satchel once our bellies were full. “Judging by this building, I’m guessing we have to be on one of the Greek isles,” he assessed. “Most are uninhabited, but this temple is too well-preserved not to be visited often.” The others nodded, though none could explain how we crossed such a distance in the span of a few hours. I watched his finger retrace our journey from Alexandria. “Or maybe the waves pushed us back south…” he trailed off.

  “At least we no longer need a compass to ascertain direction,” I indicated the fading light on the obscure horizon. It appeared that the rear of the temple faced southwest. “I’m going to get some branches before we lose all light,” I determined. “We can use these tarps to make tents.”

  “I will help,” Rémy offered.

  We were about to
trek back to the thick foliage when a sound penetrated the still air and interrupted us. Deep and rumbling, the blast was like an ethereal foghorn. It came from somewhere inland, blowing steadily while our party gazed at each other in confusion. When the rumbling ceased, we were left in silent twilight, the white temple looming ominously overhead.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  A foghorn!” Rémy exclaimed. “There must be a port nearby.”

  “Unlike one I’ve ever heard,” Travert cautioned, “but it couldn’t have been more than a few miles away.”

  “Well let’s get to it,” Father Daniel cheered.

  “Not so fast now,” Lady Pearson reproached. “The sun’s about down and we are well away from the source of that call. It would be prudent to stay here and wait for the light of the morning.”

  “A sound proposal,” the captain approved and the matter was settled.

  I instinctively waited for the next blow of the horn but none came. I found it odd that the call only sounded once during the many hours of heavy fog. But without another explanation, a foghorn seemed the natural assumption to the source of the blast.

  Travert went to work building a fire while the others unpacked our provisions. Rémy and I scoured the area for suitable tent supports. He instinctively switched to French when away from the group.

  “What about using some of these?” he asked, indicating the tall trees in the field.

  “I doubt we could break any of the big branches off, even if we could climb up there.” The trees surrounding the temple were undeniably ancient. Great cedars, oaks, and cypresses were neatly scattered throughout the terrain as if planted purposely. “Besides, we passed a few hefty branches on our climb up which should do nicely.”

  We spotted a fitting piece of sturdy wood immediately upon reaching the foliage which led down to the little beach. Despite our luck, we could not locate another of its dimension. We set aside several shorter branches but continued to search. Darkness had set in and the fog made it impossible to see more than a few feet into the woods. Rémy and I ventured down several yards but we didn’t chance going deeper considering the slippery stones throughout the descent.

  “I guess those will have to do,” I finally relented and proceeded to climb back up. Rémy opened his mouth to respond when a crack in the thicket froze us in our steps. It came from somewhere to our right, loud and distinct. I looked at the young boatman, his eyes wide. It must have been a minute before either of us moved again.

  “What do you suppose it was?” I whispered.

  “Maybe we jostled some of the stones at the top,” he guessed.

  A gust of wind swept through and rustled some of the branches. We remained frozen in our steps, peering into the dark fog. The wind soon died down but I realized the distant rustling continued. Or was it rustling? I got a chill, for the sound I heard was now more like whispering. The breeze picked up again and I strained to hear through it. This time I was certain of hushed voices within the shadows. Rémy nudged me to keep going and I quickly scrambled up the hill. We seized the large branches we had set aside and I turned back to face the woods, intent on using them as weapons if I had to. Why did we leave his rifle with the others? I thought.

  “What are you doing?” Rémy asked.

  “You didn’t hear it?” I kept my voice down.

  “Hear what?”

  There was another crack in the foliage, this time closer than before. Rémy briefly met my gaze and, without further contemplation, we turned and ran back to our party, neither of us daring to look over our shoulders.

  The glow of the fire was a beacon through the haze and we sprinted toward it.

  “What happened?” Father Daniel asked wide-eyed when we dashed into the light.

  “We heard something in the woods; movement of some sort,” I explained panting, and dropped the branches to the ground.

  “Animals,” the captain reassured us, and I could see the others drop their guard. I wasn’t so certain. I wanted to tell them about the whispers but, without Rémy’s confirmation, I kept my mouth shut.

  “Well sit down and catch your breath. There aren’t any man-eaters in this part of the world,” Lady Pearson comforted. “Are there, Captain?” she added less assuredly.

  “None,” Travert responded.

  Two russet pyramids were soon erected in the grass beside the temple. We drove the largest branches into the earth and spread the linen tarps over them. The ladies retired to the smaller tent while we four men shared the other. I lay at one of the edges, my arm acting as a pillow. The chill of the night was mild and I was able to rest in limited comfort, though sleep was difficult to come by.

  I closed my eyes but my mind would not consent to slumber. Drowsiness was no cure against analysis, and the knot in my stomach was a reminder of my lack of answers. As much as I tried, I could not rationalize the obscurities around me. It must have been an hour or two before I drifted off.

  It was deep into the night when something woke me. My eyes opened instinctively, though I didn’t know what had startled them. I lay facing the flap of the tent and everything appeared still and silent. I began to doze again when I heard it. Soft and almost indistinguishable, there was a definite voice, a cross between a whisper and a soft chuckle, coming from somewhere outside the tent.

  I slowly lifted the linen flap and peered into the darkness. The thick fog remained unchanged. Will we be forever shrouded in this confounded mist? I took out my pocket watch and strained to see the time. It was nearly four o’clock in the morning. Just as my hand began to lower the flap, I spotted movement in the haze. My hairs instantly perked up and I could feel my heart rate increase. It looked like two figures, tall and dark, moving together through the shadows. They walked upright, though there was something inhuman about their shape. Their heads looked particularly large, almost gorilla-like.

  Then I heard the strange whispering again, though from the opposite side. How many of these creatures are there? I lowered the flap and propped myself up on an elbow. I contemplated waking the others, but I judged our movement may only intimidate the things outside. I instead decided to wait until their actions turned hostile. If they were primates, they were probably just curious about our strange little pyramids, though I knew of no apes indigenous to the Mediterranean.

  I lay back down, actively listening for the sound of voices or approaching footsteps. Do primates whisper? I wondered. Their noises were almost indistinguishable from the sound of rustling grass and the hum of the sea below the precipice. There was a time when I thought one of the creatures was just outside the tent, though I dared not lift the flap in fear of coming face to face with the soulless eyes of some wild beast.

  As the minutes went by, the strange whispers transformed into nothing more than background noise. After a while, I peered out into the field again but to no avail. Any trace of their shadowy forms was gone. I began doubting my senses and the exhaustion of the day soon caught back up with me. I awoke to the songs of local birds and realized that the area had begun to illuminate.

  The sun was not yet up, but I found renewed confidence in the mental clarity that comes with morning. I rolled out of the tent resolute on surveying my surroundings. The fog had wholly dissipated and my suspicions from the night went with it. They were easily discarded in the ever-lightening dawn and I judged them to be nothing more than folly; ideas created by darkness, fatigue, and fear of the unknown.

  The great temple continued to awe beside me. I spotted an imposing white-tailed eagle perched upon its crest. The bird scrutinized me for a moment before spreading its extensive wings and silently gliding inland, a mockery of our confined condition. Without hindrance to my sight, I could now discern the extent of the field surrounding the marble structure.

  The thick grass and ancient trees encircled the shrine like a park. I could not see far, for the area was quite hilly and wooded. But where the vegetation ended farther inland, craggy barren rock extended to join a chain of low mountains on the horizon
. To my dismay, I could spot no other buildings from my vantage point. Even so, I was eager to find the source of the foghorn from the previous evening.

  The foghorn! As if on cue, the deep blast sounded again and the air reverberated with its otherworldly rumble. I saw the tents moving as my shipmates began to stir.

  “Well that’s one way to start a morning,” Travert said with a chuckle, emerging from beneath the linen tarp. The others soon joined us out on the lawn and we scanned the great stretch of land before us.

  Rémy instinctively gazed out at the water. “The Bigorneau,” he remarked somberly, looking out at the little ship.

  I put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll find the parts we need at port and be back in no time.”

  “Let’s be thankful that there is a port at all,” Father Daniel added.

  The gravity of our predicament cast its full weight on Ella that morning. She had stayed quiet as we roused and strode about the field. I was making my way back to our campsite when I spotted her alone, head held down, near the rear of the temple. I impulsively decided to join her. She greeted me with a small nod as I approached. We stood in silence for a minute, admiring the sea. Daybreak had illuminated the waters with hues of blue and yellow and the precipice offered a striking view.

  “We’ll be alright, you know,” I assured her.

  “Oh, it's not that,” she murmured. “I’m sure we’ll soon be headed for home.” She flashed a small smile, but her tone betrayed sadness.

  “You're not happy to be returning?” I asked.

  She looked up at me. “I only wish I did not have to go so quickly. I was just beginning to explore the charms of the east,” she divulged.

  I smiled. “I know what you mean. One could spend a lifetime there and still have more to see. But I have no doubt you’ll make many return voyages.”

  “Perhaps,” she answered distantly, “though it wouldn’t be the same.”

  “Ella, dear!” Lady Pearson interrupted from the camp.