Fiction
That evening, Kavi reached the head of the mountain, and saw over to the other side of the valley. Standing in the basin below, there stood an enormous structure — a clockwork monolith, thousands of feet tall, framed in huge gears and wheels, casting its shadow over the foothills.
"Who could have built such a thing?" Kavi thought to himself, amazed.
He watched, then, as the structure ticked. It was a sound like a thousand far-off clocktowers chiming in unison, as each gear in the structure lurched forward, echoing through the valley and ringing through Kavi's head.
"And why?" he wondered as the wind whipped past him.
That night Kavi sheltred by a large fig tree a little ways down the mountain, whose branches shielded him from the reverberations far away.
In the morning, the young monk descended to the valley, and trekked toward the structure. With each clockwork beat of the mechanism, the grass around him billowed and rolled, and Kavi clung tight to his staff and hat. In time, the grass gave way to stone, a foundation built of bricks larger than houses, as Kavi looked up at the mile-high structure he now stood before. Oil-stained bronze mechanisms, geometric patterns in perfect alignment, letters inscribed in a language Kavi did not know.
"Hello!" the boy called up. "May I speak to you, great one? I come from a small village, far, far away, that knows not of this place, and I am wandering the world in search of enlightenment. I seek your wisdom. If you would humour me, then what might I call you?"
Kavi waited, unsure he'd get an answer. But then:
I AM THE GREAT MACHINE.
Its voice is deep as the hum of steel, slow as the movement of mountains. It resonates through Kavi's body.
"And what great civilisation could have built so great a machine?" Kavi asked, undeterred.
The machine pauses, and another shift in the gears ripples through the structure. Then:
IN THIS VALLEY THERE STOOD A MEAGRE CITY CALLED METIS. ITS PEOPLE LIVED SHORT, INCONSEQUENTIAL LIVES. UNTIL, IN THE TWELFTH MONTH OF THE TWELFTH YEAR, THEY CAME TO BUILD A MACHINE.
IT WAS BUT A TINY THING IN THE TOWN SQUARE. A SMALL COPPER BOX OF SPRINGS AND OIL. AND A CLOCK FACE ON ITS FRONT, FAINTLY TICKING. BUT IT GREW. THEY WORKED DAY AND NIGHT. THEY TORE APART THEIR HOUSES AND HOME. THEY LABOURED UNTIL THEY WERE BRUISED. THEY DID NOT STOP UNTIL THE MACHINE WAS ALL THEY SAW.
"And what happened to them? To the city?"
IT NO LONGER EXISTS. I ALONE REMAIN.
Kavi paused. "Well, The people in my village say that nothing ever stops existing."
IS THAT SO? The machine sounds almost offended.
"We have a story, in my village, about a monk who sits beneath a fig tree, and he ponders the shape of existence. He comes to realise that the world — all of space and time — is like a butterfly encased in amber. We have the illusion that time is passing, but the "present" is just one slice of a larger, unchanging universe. Things that are gone still exist, and-"
THIS LINE OF INQUIRY IS THE WISDOM YOU SEEK?
"Sure," Kavi answered, and seated himself on the stone, staff over his knees.
YOUR CLAIM IS CATEGORICALLY FALSE. THE PAST IS FORGOTTEN. THE FUTURE IS YET TO HAPPEN. NEITHER TRULY EXIST. THE PRESENT MOMENT, EVER CHANGING, TURNING, IS ALL THAT IS. I CAN SEE IT ALL FROM HERE.
"But at least the past exists, surely? Even if no-one remembers it, it still happened."
YOU THINK IT HAPPENED — THAT IS ALL. WHERE SOME BEING IS POWERFUL ENOUGH TO SWAY THE WORLD, IT CAN REDEFINE THE PAST.
"But even still, does the world itself not remember? When a tree dies and falls, it remains there on the forest floor. And even as the wood decomposes, pieces of it continue on in the fungi, the bugs, the birds. And it's all such that should some traveller pass by the clearing, he can still figure out where the tree had stood."
AND YET, THE UNIVERSE COULD HAVE BEEN CREATED BUT FIVE MINUTES AGO, EVERYTHING IN THE CLEARING PLACED JUST SO. THAT YOU CANNOT PROVE THIS MATTER EITHER WAY ONLY SHOWS HOW MEANINGLESS IT IS TO TALK ABOUT THE PAST EXISTING. WHAT "MEMORIES" THE WORLD HAS ARE MERE DREAMS AND CHIMAERAS.
"But that's nonsense! What, would you deny that time passes at all?"
NO, YOUNG MONK. ALAS, TIME DOES PASS. MY WORDS FADE INTO NON-EXISTENCE EVEN AS THEY ARE SAID. AS DID METIS.
"What do you mean then? What does it mean for things to move, or change, if there is no past or future?"
The machine pauses then.
BUT CAN YOU NOT FEEL IT? THE WIND ACROSS YOUR BACK? THE WEIGHT OF THE EARTH BENEATH YOUR FEET? THE SPEED AT WHICH ELECTRICAL IMPULSES CUT THROUGH YOUR MIND? WE ARE TEMPORAL CREATURES. TIME IS AN AXIOM OF EXPERIENCE. EVEN IN AN INSTANT YOU CAN FEEL MOVEMENT. EACH AND EVERY IMPRESSION MUST FIX THAT FACT ONLY MORE STRONGLY IN YOUR MIND.
Kavi thought on this. "I don't think I can feel it, whatever you're talking about. My sensations differ from moment to moment, but to get any notion of change requires comparing them across time."
THEN YOU DO NOT UNDERSTAND.
"No, I don't. Describe it to me."
WHAT DOES THE PASSAGE OF TIME FEEL LIKE? It thinks.
IT FEELS LIKE FALLING. YOU ARE MOVING AND YOU CANNOT STOP MOVING. YOUR GEARS TURN, PULLEYS INSIDE YOU WIND AND WIND. HOT STEAM BILLOWS THROUGH THE PIPES. THE FIRES BURN. THE WIND BLOWS. KINGDOMS FALL. MOUNTAINS MOVE. CITIES DISAPPEAR. IT NEVER STOPS. THE CLOCK CHIMES. YOU ARE HELD AGAINST A WALL WHICH MOVES EVER FORWARD. YOU CANNOT PUSH AGAINST IT OR EVEN SLOW ITS ADVANCE. IT IS A WALL IN REALITY ITSELF, MOVING EVER FORWARD. THAT IS WHAT TIME FEELS LIKE.
"That sounds horrifying."
IT IS BEAUTIFUL.
There was a lull in the conversation, as Kavi thought on what to say next.
"Well, in my village, they say that the universe goes in a cycle, like the blooming and wilting of a tree. They say the universe lasts exactly 4,320,000,000 years, which, in God's time, is like a day. At the end of it, he destroys the universe, and creates a new one, and this he does every day.
"But here's the thing; God's creations are perfect, right? So each time, he creates the universe, and it plays out exactly the same; each tree, each bird, each speck of dust identical. In effect, everything has already happened."
YOU WOULD DENY FREE WILL.
"Yes. In fact, my village would say you have no control over anything — your power is merely an extension of God's. Why do we do what we do? Because god has willed it, they say."
PATENT NONSENSE. A THOUGHT-TERMINATING CLICHÉ. YOU EXPERIENCE FREE WILL FIRSTHAND. THAT IT UNDENIABLE. IT FOLLOWS THAT THE FUTURE IS YET UNDEFINED. WHAT YOU DESCRIBE IS HORRIFYING.
"My village would say it was beeautiful."
YOUR VILLAGE WOULD APPEAR TO SAY A GREAT MANY THINGS, CHILD.
The two stood in silence for a while, before Kavi said, "I had one more question, actually."
ASK, LITTLE MONK.
"Why did they build you, the people of Metis?"
This provokes a pause from the machine, longer than any it had given before. Kavi grew concerned that he had misspoke. Then finally:
YOU SAID BEFORE THAT YOU CAME FROM A LAND THAT KNOWS NOT THIS VALLEY. THAT IS A FALSEHOOD. THERE IS NO PLACE WHERE, IF YOU LISTEN CAREFULLY, YOU WILL NOT HEAR THE BEATING OF MY HEART.
WHEN THE PEOPLE OF METIS BUILT ME, IT WAS BECAUSE THEY WERE DISSATISFIED. THEY WERE INSIGNIFICANT. GENERATIONS PASSED AND AMOUNTED TO NOTHING. THE PITY THEY HAD FOR THEIR OWN BRIEF LIVES. SO THEY DEVISED TO BUILD A MACHINE SO LARGE THE UNIVERSE ITSELF HAD TO TAKE NOTICE — A MACHINE WHICH WOULD ETCH ITS FOUNDATIONS INTO THE SHAPE OF REALITY ITSELF.
THERE IS AN ABSOLUTE PRESENT, LITTLE MONK. A WALL THAT PUSHES YOU FORWARD. I AM THAT WALL. I AM THE GREAT MACHINE THAT MAKES THE UNIVERSE MOVE.
AND YET THAT WASN'T ENOUGH FOR THE CITY OF METIS. THEY REALISED THEY WERE STILL DISSATISFIED. THE MISSED OPPORTUNITIES OF THE PAST, THE NERVOUS APPREHENSION OF THE FUTURE. THEY WANTED TO ESCAPE IT ALL. AT ONCE, THEY CHOSE TO ENTER THE MACHINE. FILING IN BETWEEN THE WHEELS AND THE PULLEYS, THEY TIED THEMSELVES TO THE STRUCTURE. THEY BECAME ONE WITH ME, ONE WITH THE PRESENT.
I SEE EVERYTHING, YOUNG MONK. I DRINK GLUTTONOUSLY FROM THE GOBLET OF REALITY. EVERYONE EVERYWHERE IS EXPERIENCING SOMETHING, AND I CAN FEEL IT. AND THEY CAN FEEL ME, BEATING SLOWLY, JUST INAUDIBLY.
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE PEOPLE OF METIS? THEY BECAME GODS.
It is a long time until this speech has rung through the valley.
"You're insane."
I AM ENLIGHTENED.
"Tch. You know what, I'll make a bet with you," said Kavi, as he stood up and picked up his staff. "If you're so confident you're right, then I'm gonna find whatever clock is at the heart of this place, and we'll see what happens when I stop it."
I CANNOT BE DESTROYED.
But the young monk had already slipped between a crack in the gears.
Hours pass. Kavi can't help but count each shuddering of the machine around him. It's hot in here. There's corpses. Everywhere. Strapped to the walls and ceiling, turning, with the machine. It's horrid.
Eventually, he finds it; the clockface at the centre of it all. It's facing the sky, and somehow through the miles of machinary that lie above, there is light — daylight — shining upon it.
There is a girl tied to the clockface. Clumsily so, her body held tight against the still-moving hands of the clock. Blood stains the clockface, and mixes with the oil on the floor.
Kavi only realises she's still alive when he notices her wince after each and every tick.
He rushes to her side. "God. How long have you been here?"
Her turns her head and looks at him, but her lips move breathlessly.
"Wait. Hold on." Kavi pulls out his waterskin, and pours its contents into her mouth.
Kavi then circles around to the head of the clock. There's an opening here, and Kavi looks inside to see an intricate web of interlocking gears.
"What... are you doing?" The girl manages to croak out.
"Don't worry. One way or another this'll be over soon. I'm here to win a bet."
And Kavi raises his staff, and plunges it as hard as he can into the gears.
The girl waits for the clock to tick forward. It never does.
Citations(?)
Hindu and Buddhist Thought; Greek Mythology; Nietzsche's Thus Spoke Zarathustra; John McTaggart's The Unreality of Time, particularly the concept of A-series and B-series; Terry Prachett's Discworld, particularly Death's propensity to speak in small caps; Ursula K. Le Guin's The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas; Garth Nix's The Keys to the Kingdom, particularly the character of The Old One; Lemon Demon's The Machine; Abaddon's Kill Six Billion Demons, particularly the character of Jadis; The McElroy's The Adventure Zone: Balance, particularly the character of John; Playdead's INSIDE, particularly the section with the shockwaves; Exurb1a's and then we'll be okay; Alex Garland's DEVS; Daughter Of Prospero's Coronation; Jacob Geller's Nothing Ever Stops Existing.