Asking Permission

It had lain there for centuries, if not millennia. Stories had grown up about it as much as the earth had, leaving a hill that was not quite a mountain and a legend that wasn’t quite a myth. Children had grown up about it as well, and today Charlie was being taken by his father to see if the latest attempt to open the Door of Mysteries at Almanac Hill, as the place was now known; this time by the Royal Corps of Engineers.

The material of the artifact was simply impenetrable and each successful advance in science over the years had only demonstrated that fact with greater certainty and precision. As an example of an immovable object, it attracted no end of contenders for the title of unstoppable force.

“Ooh! Look, pa!” Charlie cooed as they unveiled a vast cylinder of polished brass and steel. An intricately cut pale blue crystal, about the size of a dinner plate, protruded from the end that was closest to the artifact. A powerful stallion was led inside a massive treadwheel and was encouraged to run faster and faster until beads of sweat erupted from its flesh at full gallop. A thick beam of pure blue light erupted from the crystal. The material of the artifact began to glow brightly with the promise of compromise, but failed to fail. The Door of Mysteries in Almanac Hill remained unopened.

As muttering men in uniform walked away, pointing fingers of blame away from themselves, Charlie tugged at his dad’s coat sleeve. “Can I touch it?” he asked, jockeying his head towards the artifact, rather than the metal cylinder which was being cordoned off by disappointed men. 

“Aye,” he replied. “No ‘arm in it,” as he pulled his pipe out of his pocket for a smoke. “Mind you stay out the way of the Corpsmen,” he directed as he dug out his tobacco pouch, but Charlie was done asking permission and was already on his way to the smooth black cliff face.

The “door” was an octagon about sixteen feet in diameter that had been incised into the otherwise flawless surface. The device the Corpsmen used had had no discernible impact at all. Neither had the tonne of military-grade explosives that had been used against it in last year’s attempt. Nor had any of the variety of projectiles, drills, nor even molten steel left any mark whatsoever. Charlie reached out to press his palm against something that had stood resolute since before he was born and required no faith that it would remain so long after he died. Every time he touched it, it felt neither warm nor cold regardless of the weather. It reminded him of his pa, always there, always withstanding whatever was thrown at him, but… He couldn’t bear to complete the thought.

“Thank you,” he whispered to the rock and turned back towards his wife, holding his baby. The door of memory had opened and taken him back to his father.