Time Writer.

By Ceefax.

He forced his breathing to slow, pulling in deep, steady lungfuls of air. The ice cave was enormous, much larger than he had imagined it would be. The roof was almost too high to see, and the sloping floor was mostly taken up with the smooth expanse of freezing water.

He lay down beside the pool, put his chin down onto his folded hands and stretched his legs out behind him. He let his eyes drift closed and focused his attention on the waters before him. They were dead and cold and created a bizarre landscape of blues and whites against the blackness of the cave walls. He spread his toes and extended the claws, gently flexing and relaxing the sore, overworked muscles.

Now that he was finally here, he wasn't sure if he could remain awake long enough to meet with the old one. After his two days of solid riding everything hurt, and his body was desperatly trying to sleep. He had not left himself enough time, and when he found that an avalanche had blocked what remained of the road he had been forced to detour, and had lost far too much time. The cave was out of the biting wind that had plagued him for his entire journey, and his frozen extremities were tingling with reawakened nerves. He flicked his ear to dislodge a droplet of melting snow and decided to allow himself a short sleep, confident that any movement in the water would awaken him.

He started awake some hours later. He had lost what little light had been seeping into the cave, and without the sunlight the air had become uncomfortably chilled. He staggered to his feet and shook himself awake, scolding himself for not building a fire when he first arrived. Pacing quickly to his pack he untied the last of his firewood and began to knock the flint and ironstone together over a patch of dry moss, reminding himself to gather more moss in the morning. Despite the damp conditions, the moss was soon smouldering. It took longer to coax the glowing embers into tiny licks of flame, but eventually he had a small fire burning, consuming his wood pile with worrying speed.

He gazed into the flames, enjoying the patterns they mindlessly created and the heat they radiated. The last hints of moisture clinging to his nut-brown self were dried, and he was lulled back towards sleep. His eyes were closing again when he glimpsed movement and twisted around. He saw a large, black mass rising slowly towards the surface of the blue and white water.

It's so cold, he thought, with a shred a doubt. Perhaps it's dead... Then the unmistakable shape of a flipper detached itself from the main bulk of the creature and gave a lazy flap, steering it slightly to the left. He got to his feet and pushed himself awkwardly to an upright position, reluctant to leave the warmth of his fire, even to face the reason for his journey.

The shape broke surface. It's freezing bulk was slick and wet, covered with pale, shallow pits where the summer parasites had detached. Dropping from his dignified stance onto all fours, he scuttled forward to meet his god.

Stopping by the edge of the water, he hesitantly reached out to the black bulk wallowing in the centre of the saltwater lake.

Greetings my revered ancestor. Have I your permission to communicate?

All put in exactly the way he had been taught, but there was no reply. The old one remained silent. Maybe it was dead, after all.

Old one? Do you understand me?

A COLD WINTER.

Yes, revered one.

He had come all this way, sacrificed so much, only to talk about the weather?

WHAT IS DESIRED?

I need your council, old one. There have been signs...

UNDERSTAND, NOT DESIRED. INTENTION, NOT YOU.

Old one, I don't understand!

YES.

The signs, revered ancestor. The signs that were predicted by Jira. Do you remember Jira, old one?

YES. YOU, NOT INTENTION.

Old one, I can not understand! Do you mean you don't want to talk to me?

NOT INTENDED.

What was intended?

TIME WRITER. ONE INFINITE RECORDED.

Do you mean Vornis? He writes...

THE TIME WRITER INTENDED. THE TIME WRITER DESIRED.

He sat down on the frozen ground and flexed his claws with frustration.

The signs have been seen, old one. That is why I am here. What is it you want us to do?

There was no reply from the old one. Instead it sank slowly out of sight. He watched in resignation as the giant body sank back down to the underwater exit of the cave. With a final, effortless flip of it's tail, almost impossible to make out through the glowing cold of the surrounding water, it departed. He growled deep in his throat and slashed at the ground, but his claws could barely make a dent in the frozen soil.

For the hours that remained until the sun rose again he distracted himself by rebuilding the fire and warming some water to drink and wash with. He had eaten the last of his food the day before and there had been no chance to hunt, as he had poured all his time and energy into the race to arrive in time for this unenlightening discourse. Instead he drank until he felt full and chewed on a strip of hide he had saved from his meal of four days ago.

Alone in the silent darkness it was simple to regret the moment of selflessness that had made him take on this mission. He wished he had lived back when his people were spread over every area of habitable land and these long, dangerous journeys were not necessary. Most often he tried to think of something to say if the old one had left for good and he was forced to return, bearing only the worthless information he had gathered from their brief meeting. At another time he could have returned with such scant news, or no news at all, and would have nothing to fear; however with the rising tension, especially after he had volunteered, he did not think he could go back home. A faint wave of detached amusement ran over his mind as he imagined the legends that would (briefly, in all probability) spring up to explain his disappearance.

He stared out into the water, which had receded since his arrival, revealing a wide expanse of frosted ground. The lake was empty, except for a small chunk of ice floating near the centre. He yawned, stretching his jaws so far apart that his sharp canine teeth pointed towards the ceiling, and settled back down beside the fire to sleep.

He was woken at dawn by the faint, alien sounds of bursting bubbles. His ears flicking eagerly forward, he gazed out over the water. The fragments of air were surfacing in a wide circle. He put his head back down on his hands and watched. He had been told of the old ones' way of feeding, along with every other tiny scrap of information that had ever been been collected about the old ones' habits, homes, behaviour, likes, dislikes, even anatomy. Vornis had been determined to prepare him for this encounter in every way he possibly could. He had privately doubted the suffusion of knowledge would be of any use, and did not take his usual pleasure in being proved right. Vornis had never told him what to do if their supposed saviour simply did not want to talk.

He could see the massive body rising up through the waters again, right in the centre of the bubble trap. Although it was still too far away to make out details, in his mind he could see the old one moving steadily upwards, it's mouth gaping wide and catching the tiny fish trapped within the net. The creature hurtled up through the water and surfaced, its mouth firmly closing, gallons of water running down the sides of its briefly exposed head. It splashed back down, sending out waves that lapped gently against the shore. The sudden manoeuvre, accompanied with the echoing crash that made his ears fold back automatically after the extended quiet, made him feel disorientated. He blinked, hard.

Old one?

It swam sedately towards him. With a hint of shock he realised it was going to beach itself, and it cruised to a gently halt, its belly scraping against the shore, finally coming to rest with its head and the centre of its back glistening in the air.

THE PROPHESY.

Yes! The signs that were prophesised! They're happening! Now what do we do? You... I mean, your people, said we should ask...

THE THIRD ONE PROPHESISED, DEPARTED.

What do we do?

YES.

No! I need to know what we have to do...

YES.

Tell me. Please...

NO.

No, no, you have to tell me, because I can't go back if I don't know how to stop them.

There was a pause.

THIRD ONE DEPARTED. FIFTH ONE DEPARTED. GREY ONE DEPARTED. PROPHESIES DEPARTED.

Does that mean you don't know?

With a rush of water, the old one's fins scraped forward. They dug into the ground and it heaved itself backwards, sending up fountains of spray and making more waves lap towards the beach.

No, don't go! Don't leave! Please, I need to talk to you, we need your help. They'll kill us if you don't help! You promised you'd help us...

NO DEATH.

It was diving towards the entrance.

But there has been death! They've come, and they're killing us!

NO FURTHER.

It was gone.

"No," he moaned aloud, and flopped flat on the ground.

Please come back! Please...