INGRESS
A Tale of Ranoa
by T. L. Rese
Copyright © 2012 by T. L. Rese
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover by Graphicz X Designs
CONTENTS
Title Page
Acknowledgments
INGRESS
About the Author
Special thanks to
Nathan Bransford, David Gaughran, and Margo Lerwill for their helpful advice and informative blogs
INGRESS
No one knows who built the Gates. They are older than Stonehenge. Older than the Pyramids. Older, even, than the earliest fossils that have been unearthed. They seem to have begun at the beginning of time, woven into the nature of the fourth dimension - as much a part of it as the seconds, the minutes, the hours, the years.
I had grown up seeing photos of them, taken from afar. There’s an enormous Gate in the Canadian Arctic, its high stone arch rising out of the ice and snow. There’s also a Gate in the Scottish Highlands – a tall, lonely arch within a landscape of mountains. And then, there’re the ones closer to home; a Gate made of red stone tops the spiraling rock formations of Bryce Canyon in Utah. And closer still, there’s a relatively small Gate, perched precariously on an angry precipice along California’s shoreline.
There are nine known Gates in total, but I wouldn’t be surprised if, one day, someone finds more in some deserted corner of the world. Looking at the photos, the Gates always seemed like simple, harmless structures. Each was only a stone arch, a single curve over the land. But everyone knows that if you passed beneath that arch, you would disappear forever. Many archaeologists and scientists have perished that way, extinguished by their obsession with the Gates.
That was what happened to Daron’s father. His father was a scientist, absorbed in Gate theories and measurements. One day, he simply vanished, and everyone assumed that, like many before him, he had ‘fallen through’.
Daron was the one who brought me to see my first Gate in person. After all these years, I still remember. How could you forget the moment when your whole world changes?
It was the summer after our final year in high school, and we had been dating for two years. Two years is a lifetime when you’re that young. People told us that we were too young to know love. But even at that age, I knew I would love him for the rest of my life. And I was right.
When he told me that he wanted to go to Pebble Beach, to celebrate the end of high school and a new beginning, I knew it would be a trip to remember.
It was a sunny day in California, when I hoisted my luggage into the back of Daron’s car. My 16-year-old sister, Ashlie, had just gotten her driver’s license and was eager to have our car all to herself for the weekend. She came racing down the stairs after me, car keys already in hand - the distinctive curls of her hair bouncing on her shoulders. “Don’t hurry back!” she called to me. And then, she was gone, clunking down the street in the used VW Beetle that our parents had bought for us to share. It would probably be a weekend of malls and party-hopping for her. And no doubt, my parents were looking forward to having the house all to themselves – ‘peace and quiet,’ as they like to say.
“Seems like it’s going to be a good weekend for everyone,” Daron remarked, as he gave me a quick kiss.
I helped him pack away the rest of the camping gear. Then we were off, snaking along the Californian coast, with the windows down, the wind in our ears and the smell of the sea in our noses. We spent most of the day winding across the shoreline, stopping and taking photos here and there, or hiking through the forests, near the sounds of the waves. We made a picnic on a beach for lunch, before continuing our scenic drive.
After awhile, as the sun was setting, Daron asked me the question that I knew would come, “So, where do you want to make camp for tonight?”
I knew what he wanted, ever since he had first mentioned Pebble Beach. The beach was a popular tourist destination. But usually, when people said they were going to Pebble Beach, they meant driving along the 17-Mile Drive, taking photos safely from afar; many times, they wouldn’t venture close enough to the beach itself to even take a picture of it. However, I knew that Daron had never intended to stay safely afar.
I had thought about it, ever since he had first proposed this weekend. Yet, even as I was faced with his question, I still wasn’t sure what my answer would be. Nevertheless, I heard myself saying, “Somewhere on Pebble Beach might be nice. We could get some good photos of the Gate.”
“Are you sure, Avril?” he asked.
“Yea, why not.” My voice sounded confident, but I felt a shiver run through me.
So he drove us there, away from the other cars, onto a quiet and lonely seascape. It was like another world, isolated from the joyful sunshine that characterized The Golden State. Here, the land was tortured, beaten by an unrelenting sea, smothered beneath a shade of grey mist. The twisted trees that clung to the broken shore seemed to writhe, misshapen by grief. The barren corpses of dead trees haunted the coastline; known as the ‘ghost trees’, they decayed slowly by the waters. At the end of the beach, high on a battered ridge, perched as though ready to fling itself onto the rocks below, was a lone cypress.
Behind this cypress, as though framing it in a picture, was the arch of a Gate.
Its grey stone curved over the lonely tree, above the violence of the ocean far beneath it. There were no warning signs, no fences, no barriers that kept people from approaching. Barriers weren’t quite necessary; an innate fear already kept the vast majority well away from this deserted place.
I got out of the car and stared at the Gate from across the coastal rocks. All the photos had failed to capture the strange, surreal horror of its presence. But it was a horror infused with awe. Only then did I understand why some risked their lives trying to decipher the mystery of the Gates. For the Gates were horrifying, fascinating, and beautiful.
We pitched our tent as the last of the sunlight slipped away. There was no splendid ocean sunset. The colors of dusk were covered by the clouds and the mist. So instead, as daylight gradually faded, we cuddled together and gazed over the rocky beach at the Gate, as though mesmerized.
Soon, we were bracing ourselves against the cold night. Wind made the ghost trees creak around us, and a pale moon glowed, white in the black sky.
I waited for Daron to speak. He was as afraid as I was – of the Gate that was now a dark shadow before a sky of stars. But eventually, he would overcome his fear. I waited, listening for his voice amidst the sound of the groaning trees.
“I know my father’s alive on the other side of that Gate,” he finally said. When I didn’t respond, he reached into his backpack and pulled out an old notebook. “Look - look at these calculations.” He handed the book to me and flicked on a flashlight.
I flipped through the pages. The notebook was filled with dense calculations, measurements, messy notes in the margins, all scrawled in illegible handwriting. “I have no idea what any of this means,” I said.
“They’re my father’s notes, his equations right before he disappeared. They prove the theory that the Gates lead to other worlds. My dad researched this his whole life. He always tried to explain his calculation
s to me. He brought me, many times, right here – to this exact spot. And we would look at the Gate, just like we’re doing now.”
For a moment, we stared at the ancient structure, the haunting edifice that clung to the jagged stones of the cliff. I became oddly conscious of his father’s notebook in my hand, its old pages fluttering beneath my fingers. “But it’s only a theory,” I said, quietly.
“Avril, I can’t live my whole life not knowing what’s on the other side.”
I found myself clutching the pages, willing for the theory to be right. “But then, why didn’t he come back?”
“I’ll find out, won’t I?” He gave me his floppy grin, his messy red hair illuminated by the flashlight.
“Don’t joke. No one ever comes back from the Gates,” I whispered.
He was silent when he reached over and took my hand. He looked at his hand holding mine, as he spoke, “I’ve waited, as long as I could. Soon, we’ll be off to college. We’ll drift apart, Avril. I’ll be on the East Coast, you’ll be down in LA. Our lives will move on, and we’ll forget about each other.”
“No, Daron,” I interrupted.
“Everyone denies it. We all think we’re going to be together forever, but no one marries their high school sweetheart anymore.” He paused. He turned and gazed out of the tent, at the Gate on the cliff. “Maybe in another world, we can be together.”
“You don’t know that. We’ll make it work, in this world,” I said weakly. But I knew he was right. I had been thinking the same thing for awhile now, silently to myself. Reluctantly, I followed his gaze out into the night, to the dark structure behind the lone cypress.
Even if I could convince him to go to college, I knew that it was only a matter of time before the Gates claimed him. Whether he did it to be with me or his father, one reason or another, he would someday fall through the Gate. Because, at the heart of it, he had inherited his father’s obsession. His bedroom was filled with textbooks, literature, studies and theories on the Gates. He was almost as much a Gate scholar as his dad. He was captivated by them. The fear, the danger, the uncertainty - only enhanced the excitement. It was a deadly curiosity that had lured many before him beneath the arch of the Gates.
It struck me again how close the Gate was, how accessible. I just had to climb over the rocks, and then I would be standing before it, a step away. Only my instincts kept me at bay, the way instincts kept most from leaping over the cliff’s edge.
But what if you were foolish enough to overcome your survival instinct?
“It would be an adventure,” Daron said. He squeezed my hand, and I realized that he was still holding it. “We’ll find out what’s on the other side, something no one in this world knows.” He spoke with his smile, his passion, and I knew that he really believed. “What’s left for us here? Just a future without each other. Just a future boxed up in an office somewhere, working ourselves to death on a hamster wheel. This is our chance. Do you really want to stay here, in this world, forever?”
I thought of refusing, of saying goodbye to Daron, watching him walk beneath that stone arch alone, then driving home by myself and telling his mother. How she would cry – how I would cry. If it didn’t happen tonight, it would happen tomorrow, or a night shortly after. I knew I couldn’t force him to stay in this world forever. If I didn’t go with him, I would have to watch him leave, and live the rest of my life trying to forget how I had let him go.
“Alright,” I said.
He grinned.
In the beam of his flashlight, Daron wrote out a letter to his mom, which he left in the tent. I sent Ashlie a text message – something about not worrying and to look after Mom and Dad. Then I turned my phone off and put it in my pocket. I hoped the message sounded okay – my mind was a confusion of thoughts and feelings. Somehow, I couldn’t quite believe that I would never come back.
Together, we climbed over the rocks, the black Pacific waves rolling like thunder beneath us. It was surprisingly easy to scramble along the rough cliff, even though its sheer sides seemed dangerous. I tried not to think about my family, about how they would grieve, about the insanity of what I was about to do. It would change my family forever, the way Daron’s life was irrevocably changed by his father’s disappearance. Even more, it would change my own life – possibly even ending it.
Down the edge of the cliff, at the very bottom, I could make out the ragged rocks breaking the surface of the waves. In front of me, the Gate grew ever closer, and too soon, I was standing right before it, beneath the boughs of the lone cypress. I stopped. I suddenly felt my heart thudding in my chest, beating from the exertion of the climb - and from a fear of what now stood so close before me.
The stone arch towered into the night sky, rising above even the highest boughs of the cypress. Up close, it was much larger than I had thought. It seemed enormous, dwarfing the surroundings beneath its shadow. Yet, somewhere deep in my mind, I was reminded that this was a small Gate compared to the others. The sheer scale of the other Gates was terrifying to imagine.
The sight of it froze both Daron and I beneath the cypress. We were caught, silent, staring mutely in shock and wonder. Here, the wind seemed to blow colder, hissing quietly. I drew my arms around myself and looked up at the ageless structure. The high arch was simple, even elegant, as it reached towards the black skies. I was close enough to see that its stone was chipped, torn with cracks, and ancient with decay. Nevertheless, the structure still reeked of grandeur and majesty. Beneath the arch, as if through a clear window, I could see the moon casting silver onto the dark waves. It seemed as though I could walk safely through that arch and stand at the edge of the cliff, admiring the view. Were it not for the overpowering fear – an instinct of self-preservation that flooded my veins like a bodily scream.
It was a strange, visceral reaction. Something in my subconscious told me to flee.
“We’re almost there.” I heard Daron’s whisper. He was pushing himself on, willing himself not to lose courage.
I wished I had his bravery. At that moment, I would have whipped around and ran, skidding back down the cliff, if he hadn’t reached out and taken my hand.
In his other hand, he was still holding the flashlight, and it illuminated his features. I’ll never forget the way he looked – with his soft smile, his gentle face. In his expression, I saw how he believed that our future beyond the Gate would be a better one.
“I love you,” he said. He swung the flashlight around, so the beam fell before him.
And then, he stepped forward beneath the arch.
We were meant to enter the Gate together - but instinctively, shamefully, I pulled back at the last instant, staggering away with a cry. The Gate wrenched him from me, his hand jerked out of my grasp.
I gaped, horrified as he vanished. He simply blinked out of existence. Suddenly, I was standing alone, locked into a strange silence.
The lone cypress shaded the precipice from the moonlight; I stood in the patch of shadow, breathing hard, staring like a frightened animal at the vacant space beneath the arch. Without his flashlight, the night was darker, emptier, colder, lonelier.
“Daron?” I cried out.
But I knew he wouldn’t answer. I heard my own voice, the sound of his name fading into the rhythm of the waves.
I tried to walk forward, but I kept seeing the way his hand was torn from mine. A part of me wanted to wait, safely – wait for awhile and see if he would come back.
But I knew that would never happen.
The only hope I had of seeing Daron again, would be if I went through the Gate.
So I forced myself to walk towards the edge of the precipice. And then, I stepped beneath the stone arch.
***
I seemed to step off the edge of the cliff. As if my stride had somehow become longer, and I had inadvertently walked over the edge. But instead of crashing onto the ocean rocks, I found myself falling end
lessly, past layers of atmosphere and cloud. Daylight flooded my vision. Cold air rushed in a roar over my ears. Yet, somehow, it felt serene. The beauty of the empty blue skies looked like heaven, and for a moment, I wondered if I had died.
But then, the peace quickly faded.
Far below, I could see a lush green earth hurtling towards me. If I wasn’t dead already, I would be soon enough.
My mind tried to think, frantically.
And then, I noticed them.
At first, it seemed to be a single shape, a giant mass of greenery rising from the earth. As it neared, I saw it was made of individual, flying creatures. They were approaching fast. Soon, their lizard shapes were distinctly visible, their yellow eyes bright in their angular heads, flying on thin leather wings.
Briefly, I was afraid the winged reptiles would devour me as prey, tearing my limbs apart in the skies. But that was all the emotion I had time for.
In the next instant, I crashed onto a creature’s back. Pain jolted through me, crushing the air from my lungs. I gasped for breath. As I started to slip off, I reached out and grabbed its neck. I pulled myself up, my legs hooking under its wings.
And suddenly, I was no longer falling. I was flying.
Clinging to the creature’s neck, careening through the atmosphere, I felt secure as its wings glided smoothly on the wind. Racing across the cold skies brought a wonder and a terrifying thrill.
I gripped the creature tightly, flying with the flock. Below, clouds streaked white over a strange new world. I peered down, squinting past the pallor, scrutinizing the landscape for hints of what might lie below.
After awhile, the creatures began to descend. They curved slowly, almost gracefully, across the sky - before pulling their wings to their bodies and free-diving towards the earth. The wind pulled my hair, blowing my face as if to rip off my skin. I hugged the creature’s throat as we plummeted towards the ground, my fingernails digging into its leathery hide. I squeezed until my muscles hurt, gripping my life. I was afraid I would strangle it to death.
The seconds seemed to last hours. Time slowed, as gradually, the serrated edges of a mountain landscape materialized beneath the clouds. Lush summits cut through the horizon, punctuating the sky like knives. The flock plunged farther, flying over the vertices, cascading across the peaks like a living waterfall. And I almost forgot my terror as I was seized with the thrill of the flight.