The Sea of Ash by Scott Thomas

had remained inactive throughout his recent travels, spare the
occasional tremor.
    He had contemplated the arm
thoroughly. It was fairly obvious that he had picked up an internal passenger,
or part of one, from Banchini's machinery. It had proven harmless so far. He
was thankful for that, for there was little chance of getting away from it but
for amputation, the possibility of which he had discarded early on. He wondered
if the dreams of London were an indication of the arm's identity.
    Of his night in Concord, his
journal entry goes as follows... "At some point in my sleep I was vaguely
aware of fingers delicately exploring my face, as if a blind person were trying
to recognize me."

    The journal goes on to show that
Pond had encounters with wondrous beauty, as well as things unsettling. Pausing
at the home of Brady Cushing Lodge, amidst the coloring hills of Glastenbury,
Vermont, he had the opportunity to listen to the Ring of Masks.
    Brady was a man of many interests,
ranging from astronomy and archaeology to anthropology and necromancy. He had
spent a great deal of time digging along the Green Mountain range -- an area
popular with treasure hunters, despite the fact that Vermont is not by the sea
and thus would be an unlikely source of pirate's gold. Burrowing under the
shadows and stones of South Mountain, Lodge made a fascinating discovery. He
unearthed a circular stone-lined pit containing seven clay masks of
undeterminable age.
    The masks were not quite like
anything he had seen before, and, considering his anthropological expertise, he
was familiar with the stylistic particulars of masks found worldwide. These
artifacts certainly did not appear to be the work of indigenous peoples.
    The masks all looked alike,
although some were better preserved than others. They were pale, smooth but for
chips and cracks, with no mouths indicated. The noses were understated, and the
eyes were dark mussel shells, apparently pressed into the clay faces while they
were still soft.
    Rather than simply hoard his find,
Lodge sought guidance through necromantic communications (automatic writing)
and constructed a curious device which integrated the clay faces... The Ring of
Masks resembled a chandelier in a way; it was a skeletal thing of dark metal
arms, suspended from a rotating mechanism which nestled under the ceiling of a
small dark room no bigger than a pantry. The masks were attached to the thin
arms, facing inward, facing each other.
    Dr. Pond sat in a chair as this
bizarre contraption was lowered down to encircle his head. He found himself eye
to eye with one of the inscrutably gazing masks, then with another as they
gradually began to rotate. Less than a foot from his face, they continued to
spin faster, the speed increasing as the device dictated until they were
whirling dizzily, the pale faces blurring, the dark shell eyes smudging upon
the air like an unbroken bar of black.
    "Mesmerizing as the imagery
was," Pond wrote, "it was the sound that I heard which made
the greatest impression on me. Hushed at first, it increased in volume as the
faces moved faster around my head. Their whispers merged into something that I
have never heard before, and I am haunted by the memory...
      "It was a million drowning
heartbeats swept along in a single note -- a river, a wind -- the song of dark
seas dreaming. A dirge of moonlight reborn in a sunken temple.
    “I feel that I would be insulting
this music if I were to try and confine it further with human language, so I
will only say this: it was the most beautiful sound ever to enter my ears.
    "While there was no actual
information for me to take away and decipher from this experience, on some
level I suddenly knew that I was approaching the end of my quest."

    The journal pages marking the
first week of October are missing -- a blank sheet represents them. A series of
brief entries follow...
    "Oct. 9th, 1920: Tunnels
under old brick church in Hancock, New Hampshire."
    Pond lists no