Page 5 of Never Tear Us Apart
‘Hardly famous,’ I say, smiling anyway. ‘I was on the BBC once, and that was just because I was in the right place at the right time. Anyway, thank you so much for bringing me here today to see the sunrise. I feel so lucky.’
‘Not at all. Now, I must leave you to the ancestors for a while. I have a meeting at the visitor centre with the curator, it’s the one time of year when we are both on site so early we can get all the week’s work done before breakfast! Enjoy thepeace of the temple in the early morning. Come and find me when you are ready.’
I thank her, smiling to myself as I begin the short descent down a white stone path towards the second, smaller temple that sits right on the cliff edge. Made of honey-coloured stone, it follows the same clover-leaf construction ofHagar Qim: five leafed chambers that come off a central stem.
Here, Kathryn has told me, it isn’t the summer solstice that the positioning of the temple seems to echo but the spring equinox and the winter solstice, and, crucially for me, the constellation of the Pleiades or the Seven Sisters – one of which was named Maia.
Maybe here, in the dust and destiny of this almost forgotten place, is where my name was born – where, for perhaps even just a few minutes, my father imagined me as his daughter, a beloved child.
Chapter Four
The heat is already building as I wander into the temple. Birdsong fills the air under the canopy, the constant chatter of sparrows and finches accompanied by the constant rush and recede of the sea meeting the rocky shore. Harmonising with it all is the single constant singing note that has rung in my ears since the accident. The doctors tell me that it may eventually fade – or that at least I will stop noticing it’s there, even if it remains: the ghost of a very bad day.
It’s a privilege to have this ancient site entirely to myself. Even the security guard who usually watches over the temple hasn’t arrived at his kiosk yet. For this short time, all that is left of it belongs to me. Its welcoming curves and secrets draw me into the heart of the temple, until I find myself at its centre. Somewhere above, a stray cloud covers the sun, the sky darkens, and I feel the keen chill of the breeze.
The fierce bright day dims and falls silent, as if something has scared all the little birds away. When I look up, I see a faultless clear sky, a dazzling sun that offers no light or warmth. Unease settles around my shoulders, like static building before a storm. A thought catches at the edge of my mind for an instant before flying out to sea: something isn’t right here.
Once, one fiery evening years ago, I stood at the mouth of a cave in Northern Iraq, a place where the remains of Neanderthals had been found and excavated. This feels a little like that: like the shadows of the past are gathering near toremind me they once were, too, just as I am now. Lightness flows through the soles of my feet to the top of my head and I get the sensation that if I’m not very careful, I might float away somewhere into the sky where all the other ghosts are waiting.
Whispered voices echo off the golden stone, and I head towards them, desperate for the company of reality.
‘Hello?’ I call. ‘Kathryn?’
When I enter the petal-shaped chamber where the voices came from, it is empty. The hair prickles on the back of my neck. I can’t hear the crashing waves anymore. Even the ringing in my ears has abruptly shut off.
Something very bad is going to happen. I can feel it deep inside me.
Then I see it and recognise it, as if it has always been there – except I know for certain that it hasn’t. A blank, black square, an entrance, has appeared in the opposite wall. It seems to look back at me.
This is the moment when anyone else would run towards safety.
But I have always sought out terror. There are stories somewhere in there, in the dark, and I want to find them.
The closer I get to the void, the quieter the air becomes as it thickens around me.
I let one last chance to turn back pass me by. Crouching low, I crawl into the dark.
The void widens, and I can stand up straight; a stone ceiling grazes the top of my head. The air smells of stone dust and heat, and singing that I cannot hear but can somehow feel vibrates against my skin.
This feels like unconsciousness. As I wade deeper and deeper into the dark, I see myself, growing smaller andsmaller, until I vanish in a pinprick. This isn’t reality anymore. It is something like death that leads me on.
Astonishingly, a clay oil lamp burns mutely in a small alcove carved into the wall, revealing a flight of steps tumbling down. The bottom is out of view.
If there was ever a world where the sun shone and the birds sang, it has vanished now. The one way forwards is descent.
It’s only when I am already out of reach of the lantern’s light that I can pinpoint the exact moment I left my body crumpled in the dust to be engulfed in this other world: it was when the canopy that covered Mnajdra vanished into thin air.
Whatever I am now is burning, aflame with pain and terror. I’m unravelling, being undone out of existence until all that remains is this thought:
I’m falling. Perhaps I will never land.
Chapter Five
The world solidifies around me, and I find myself braced with my hands against a rough stone wall in the perfect dark. Feeling my way forwards with a few faltering steps, I realise I’m in a low, narrow tunnel. The nothing behind me nudges me on.
There’s something else: I am not alone down here.
My hearing seems to come back to me in increments: first the sound of my hands grazing the stone, then my soft, tentative footsteps.
