28.
Peace – What Renee Saw – The Sacred Hour
Nighttime on the island was slow, untrackable time; peaceful and creaking and cool with only the amble of the moon to suggest the hour. Kyra didn't know how much longer until the early dawn would crack the sky, but it seemed quite some hours yet. She shifted the barest bit, trying to not jostle Krish's head from where it lay in her lap.
"You alright?" he asked, his voice low and quiet.
"Yeah, just some sand felt like it shifted under my butt. I'm fine." Without really thinking about it, she gently stroked some dark hair away from his forehead. In the moonlight, she saw the crease of a smile. "You?"
"I feel good." Still the smile.
"Yeah, huh?" She laughed, but it came out a little wrong, a little too throaty. He could tell, a slender, too pale hand reached up to squeeze her arm.
"It's going to be all right," he said.
She felt a fat teardrop rebel near the corner of her left eye. "I'm sure you're right, but shit."
He squeezed her arm again, then let go and refolded his hands across his stomach.
. . .
"Jesus, it's late. You're sure it's okay I keep you up?" Renee fiddled sheepishly with a tall glass of iced tea. She flicked her gaze from Ben to Hurley and back. They were sitting in Hurley's cabin, snacking and drinking tea companionably while catching up on her findings.
It was Ben that gave her a comforting smile. "More than fine. Ghost stories and tall tales are better in the dark. Perhaps I should get some candles." The idea drew a chuckle from Hurley. "So we're caught up on the generalities of the cave. You wanted to get into what you saw during the recent... festivities."
"Yeah." She scratched her chin, lidding her eyes while she processed how she wanted to begin. After a long moment, she set her glass down and spread her hands. "Okay. You've got a cave with a stele marked with Assyrian cuneiform. The language is ancient, the symbolism dates from later – still early – Egypt. The entire concept of the cave is going downwards, which as I explained to the gang approximately a century ago, was only other really seen in the Osireion, which is a really strange piece of Egyptology. But it fits with what we know of the old mystery cult that sprung up around him, around both previous and later Mithraic mystery cults, and pretty much any theology that revolves around the everlasting spirit in the face of the underworld."
She clasped her hands back together. "In addition, there's runoffs all through the cave that drain all that water to other places around the island. The island is its own network, recursively underlined by the cave network within and, again, underneath the temple. The classic Khmer-style Cambodian temple, because why the fuck not, guys, right?" A quick grin. Ben reclined into the couch, watching her. She was unfazed and shrugged.
"So following the water leads into the cave network. All of it is one big happy subway to Weirdworld. Anyway, as far as the cavern itself you follow the cavern walls away from the pool, not even very far, it gets dark back there. Crazy dark. The neat thing is, if you can shine some light back there, the glyphs continue alongside the very old, very dry bodies that line some of the little nooks. Logogram languages that would take me centuries to figure out. Shit I don't think we have alphabets for anymore. This place is beyond ancient. Eventually, you find pictographs; the lore here goes further back than human tongue can really say. And the pictographs are in great fucking shape for a moisture-riddled underground cave hub. Images of the sun. Images of the moon in its phases. Black and white primitive ink, I can't even guess how old and I didn't dare touch it." Renee tapped on the table between her and the island guardians for emphasis. "It's like time does nothing down there. Shit." She laughed. "Time does nothing down there, remove the qualifier. The air is pure and sweet and new."
"You found more than that." Benjamin Linus arched an eyebrow and refilled his glass from the sweating pitcher of tea.
"Oh, honey." She couldn't help a giggle. "I got a theory that couldn't pass muster with David Icke, and I believe in it totally."
. . .
Kyra inhaled a little, the brief sniffle long since gone. "So what do you think is going to happen to everyone?"
"I don't know," Krish said. He gave a slow exhale, taking some effort with the words. "I think that's a good thing. I think whatever is next for everyone is a good thing. We've all... grown a bit here, I suppose. Our weak places patched over a little."
She gave a thick swallow. "I don't feel that patched."
"Well." A little, clacking laugh. "That's my fault. It'll be better in the morning, I think. With the sun. And the others. We will all leave as friends."
"At some sort of peace."
"Mm. Maybe it'll help to take that out into the world. Maybe that's what Hurley wants." Krish shivered a little and she curled down over him protectively.
"Need a blanket?"
He tilted his head back to look up into her face. "No. I'll be fine. Not too much longer." He smiled again.
. . .
Hurley had gotten up to refill the snack bowl with some old DHARMA brand snack mix, as some sort of in joke between himself and Ben. Renee didn't trouble herself with the history there much, but an old rye chip tasted pretty much the same as a new one as far as she was concerned.
"So there's all that. Then you get way back there in the dark nooks, and it's not even anything a human hand put on the wall." She put a hand in the air. "Reference to David Icke aside, I'm not talking about aliens." She set it down again, flexed her fingers and took the excuse to keep her gaze down. She took a deep breath – while she believed in what she said, it still seemed unbelievable. "There's a root network along the walls, too. Plant roots. Tree roots. Organic material. And all of it starts to form into pictographs. They grew into a way that's meant to be recognized." She glanced up into their watchful eyes. "I don't mean like maybe something could look like a horse if you're stoned and coming back from a Phish concert. I mean, full stop, that fuckin' root network is totally mimicking basic symbols – sun, moon, triangle, horizontal lines. A line figure that is unarguably meant to represent a person. Several of those, in circles. One big circle of roots, with a little nubbin of fucking moss in the center – the pool.
"Did someone shape the material that way? Our logic assumes so. Someone in the past kept and cultivated the cave. But the island isn't operating on our normal everyday logic. I don't want to say either way. Maybe someone started it and the island kept it. I don't know. Both of you know the weirdest thing about this place and I figured it out for myself. The island itself is alive."
Hurley nodded to her. "Yeah. It is." He said it matter-of-factly, like repeating a Jeopardy! answer.
"But here's what I'm telling you. It's not just alive. It's life, Hurley. All this shit about axis mundi, the heart of the world, of that crazy ass statue of maternal Tawaret, that tapestry -" She ran her fingers busily through her hair. "This island is the very heart of 'Mother'. The deepest, secret beating heart. That's my theory. Mother Earth, the semiotic concept we gave to the planet through a thousand belief systems. Mother is alive. Mother is here, and everywhere, that's why the island can effect change in its chosen people elsewhere, why there's other powerful pulses, not truly a 'source' like here. Not as strong, but you can still feel the beat. And... Mother really does love us and wants us safe. As safe and protected as her own heart, and given a thousand chances to change for the better."
She grinned. "How sappy and fucked up is that?"
"But death is here, too." Ben looked evenly at her.
"Well, it is part of the balance. Everything turns back to nature." She shrugged back. "Sometimes Momma gotta smack a few, too. Love is unconditional; it isn't blind."
He grunted, a noncommittal noise, then glanced to Hurley. He was nodding. "I don't know for sure... but it feels right. Like, even if it isn't? It's not a bad way to think."
"Always the cycle, light and dark, but it's always for love of life. Just, you know. Life ends. Maybe not the journey, though." She grinned, then stopped. "Shit, I don't want to think about that right now."
Hurley reached across the table and patted her hand. "It's okay. I'm glad Kyra talked to you, though. That's a big step."
"She going to take this alright? They got to be friends."
"She'll be okay." He smiled. "I think we all need some time to really chew this stuff over.."
. . .
Kyra continued to stroke Krish's forehead. He'd grown much quieter in the last hour or so. He'd told her a couple of stories about his family, boisterous Irish meeting reserved Indian. School stories. Even a little bit about Hindu philosophy. Then he'd resettled in her lap and let her talk instead. She was at a loss for a while, then dug around for what she remembered of her own childhood – not the various facades of half truths she used to build a dozen different identities for a dozen different types of cover. She talked about a puppy when she was a kid, one that had run away and then was found again, a year later and a year bigger and how she had cried when the dog ran up to her, excited to be home. She'd believed for certain the dog was dead; her loving but brusque father convinced of it.
She hadn't thought of the dog – Sally – in years, and had burst into tears for a moment. Sally hadn't been long-lived, but she had been a happy creature. It was the last pet Kyra had owned.
Finally they waited in companionable silence. Stars began to disappear into the twilight hours before dawn. The nighttime creatures settled to wait for the day, the daytime insects had not yet woken. Everything was in peaceful silence.
Kyra could hear only the soft sound of her own breath, and then felt it catch in her throat. She was afraid to look down for a long moment, feeling his hair between her fingers. Finally, she took a soft, sad inhale and turned her face down to Krish's.
He looked like he was sleeping.
