The Semaphore

4 - A House on a Hill

The following morning the Lowoods gave way abruptly to the high plains of Rapidan.

The three were stricken motionless by sunlight and an endless expanse of brassy hills. Flaxen grass shimmered in the wake of a breeze. Massive terraces of billowing white clouds drifted through the rich cerulean sky.

The ravine continued from the Lowoods and across the plain, tearing a gash through the hills northward. The ravine's vegetation of ferns and shrubs—one of its defining characteristics in Pontis' mind—whithered and then vanished beyond the wood line, exposing the truth of its dark gray rock. The trade path followed alongside it, rising and falling with the low hills, a faint pale impression in the dry, golden grass.

A small white house sat atop the tallest hill in sight. Adjacent to it was a structure—nearly twice its size—that reminded to Pontis of an enormous blue cake. As he peered at it he discerned that it was in fact a cylindrical structure made entirely of glass, reflecting the sky.

"That's it," said Varia, leading the three across the hills toward the house.

Laszlo, who had yet to speak since the day before last, trailed behind his companions.

Pontis glanced back at the Lowoods. He had never been outside of them, and he experienced a strange dissonance, an out of body sensation like looking at himself from far away. A brace of sparrows rose up from the tree line and braided through the air. Pontis nodded toward them, thanking them for their company through the Lowoods and for their inspiration. The sparrows alit onto the canopy. Pontis jogged to catch up with Laszlo and Varia, who were nearly at the front steps of the house.

The white paint of the house's front porch was chipped and peeling. A single old rocking chair sat on one end, facing the Lowoods. The windowpanes on either side of the front door were scuffed, and drawn curtains obstructed a view into the house. The door itself was painted green, with a flimsy screen door attached to the outside frame that whined on its hinges as Varia opened it.

"Should I knock?" she asked, frowning.

"Yes," said Laszlo, finally breaking his silence.

Varia glanced at Pontis and shrugged, then rapped on the green door.

There was silence inside. Pontis looked over at the cylindrical glass structure, attached to the white house by an enclosed wooden walkway. The structure—with its immaculate glass walls perfectly reflecting the blue sky—had a flat roof made of a shiny black material cross-thatched with gold lines. The decrepit white house and the cylindrical glass structure were so incongruous with one another that their enjoinment seemed almost accidental.

"Maybe he doesn't live here anymore," Varia said. She pressed her ear to the door. "There's music..." She knocked again. Pontis turned and scanned the hills, aware suddenly of an eerie emptiness about them.

"What's that?" Laszlo asked, pointing to the corner of the porch where one of the flindering columns met the roof.

There was a round object bolted there, made of what appeared to be white metal. On the end facing them was a glass aperture. Pontis approached it and peered into the glass, in which he could see his warped reflection. The aperture dilated and contracted.

"I think it's a camera lens," Varia said, joining Pontis' distended reflection. "Just... a lot different than any camera I've ever seen."

A hissing sound issued from the camera, and then a voice.

"Who are you?" the voice demanded.

Varia and Pontis startled. Laszlo moved cautiously toward the camera, his hand on the hilt of his knife.