Under the Vault

I walked down the sloped bank into the dry creek bed beneath the arched bridge. The air was cool and shaded between the stone supports. I stood right in the center of the span. I rested the blunt tip of my club against a rounded river rock and struck downward once. The clap cracked off the cobbles, shot straight up into the curved stone archway above, and rolled back down in a double pulse. I did not move. I waited while the stone roof threw the noise back across my shoulders until it settled into the pebbles.