Red fang at Cherry Rock last Sunday. Top gig don't miss them they are playing another show on Friday at The Prince of Whales in St Kilda thanks to @heathenskulls for bringing top bands to Oz! #redfang #melbourne #cherryrock #cherrybar #intotheeye
Alright guys. Sorry I've been copping out and only posting my homework submissions. I've been having a topsy turvy week, BUT THAT IS NO EXCUSE!!!
Needless to say, I've finally finished the fourth installment of Into the Serpent's Eye. I've actually had it somewhat done for a few days, but I've wanted to make sure there were no errors for making you wait. So now, you've got yourself a fairly long insert, and a delightfully suspenseful beginning for new things. Itwanu and the Professor get into a fight, Nate experiences a haunting urge to kill, and the party questions the true value of their research. Don't miss it! It'll appear tonight at 8, central time.
With the intensity of my near-death subsided, we all found some time to simply lay back, and enjoy this time before the coming trek. It was no longer a dream on paper, or a pitch to patrons. We sat in the silence of our last day, in the last body we ever hope to have. I placed my camera inside my bag after one quick before-photo with the group. The dagger I found lay wrapped in a shirt at the bottom. I did not want to give it any thought tonight. Plenty of opportunities to let it dominate my thoughts would come, but tonight was about the three people finding comfortable positions beside me. I tied the pack shut, and turned around. Connie had herself placed within her husband's hairy arms. She always looked more like a younger sister to me. Her hair didn't match his, but their respecting love always appeared as if he cared for her long before any ring slipped onto any finger. Alone to himself, Itwanu simply stared into the cave without speaking. I decided the two of us would become very close in times like this. The professor rarely received times to devote to his wife, and this felt like a memory they'd rather remember without my influence.
“Nervous,” I asked the pensive Ikwan. He stared into my eyes, and, for a second, he almost looked alarmed to see me. I hesitated and broke our eye contact, glancing back at him repeatedly. Had I said something while I was out? If I had, then maybe he could help me understand what it was about. On the other hand, maybe his alarm meant he knew and feared where that voice came from. Where did that voice come from? I had heard of angels or family members, but never of dagger-conjuring spirits. Itwanu smiled at me, and scooted down. He pointed into the caverns.
“Thirty-nine years ago, I stood on this very spot as a boy. I had just turned seven, and was carried up and thrown into the falls by the man who told me the stories I have told you. I can still feel the fear of when he placed a fold over my eyes, a fold over my mouth, and sat me down; telling me to listen, and trust in the counsel of my lesser senses.”
He took a stick out of the fire and held it in front of him, letting it burn. I watched as the words rested in his voice like mice in a maze – wanting to escape, but not knowing which one to follow.
He continued, “I was afraid. I am sure you three are as well, but I was afraid I would fail him. Of the children in our village, only one is chosen to become the story keeper. I did not know if my teacher had chosen correctly. Even now, I wonder if he could have chosen someone better. He sent me though, like his teacher sent him, and the teacher before him. Since the day my people were born, we have sent a chosen boy, alone, through this cavern. His spirit is the only vessel entrusted with the knowledge of the road we'll go down tomorrow.”
The fire from the stick had extinguished, and only char remained. I watched as Itwanu drew on the stone beneath him. Its reference made no sense to me, just a plain circle with hooks coming around each of its four quadrants, but the weight of our presence fell sternly in my chest. When Itwanu wanted to tell us stories in his camp, he would let them flow out like music. At times, he would recite cantos spoken by a prince to his people, three centuries prior, with pristine accuracy, and in all that time I never quite identified the culture this man held inside of him. Itwanu had no books to store things out of sight, out of mind. He lived the pages daily for others to review, and we were standing in the heart of his greatest tale. It became blatant, the indecision he must have reserved this entire time.
“The three of us deeply appreciate what you'll be showing us, tomorrow. It could mean so much to the way we view our world,” I said after a few moments. It wasn't the best condolence. I'm sure the best condolence involved going home. In exchange for petty medicines and aide, I almost felt as if the Ikwan's guidance came by exhorting their history away from them.
He tilted his head slightly, and wrapped his hand around the burnt stick; twisting it until his entire hand turned black. Then he placed his palm firmly inside of the circle, and returned the stick to the fire. I leaned back, impressed by the vastness of this hollow mountain. An ancient snake burrowed this cave. I clicked my tongue. The walls were about ten-meters wide.
“Man, some snake,” I said. Itwanu chuckled and leaned back with me. “Ever actually seen her,” I asked him after a while. He shot me a concerned glance, and I returned an innocent expression.
“No,” he said, “When you go into Abrucka, you bring no words, and take no sights.” He looked firmly at me, and where my camera would have rested if I had it with me. I looked away. The Ikwans had agreed to let me come, but they were not pleased. They barely agreed to let the Blaires go, but Connie put her foot down when they refused. It was either all of us or none of the aid. I promised my professional promise of only taking shots that reinforced the scientist's discoveries – nothing offensive or disrespectful. Apparently, a ginormous serpent fell within under the latter.
“Do you know if...,” I paused to choose my words this time, “Anyone ever disrespected that rule,” I asked.
“You mean besides yourself,” he countered, and I let out a halfhearted laugh.
“Only once,” he said,” A young boy found his way down, and removed the fold to see it for himself. At the time, our village was under heavy attacks from a neighbor to the west. He said, when he left, that he would return with the glory of Uluri – and the courage to vanquish all foes. His teacher, as curious as the boy, chose not to believe the extent of his words, and let him go.”
He pulled a knife from his bag, and pricked his finger so deep that the blood trickled down his arm. The sight made me shiver, and I turned my attention to Professor Blair's light snoring. The couple had fallen asleep quickly. Then again, they were a bit older than I was. This would probably become their last trip. Professor Blair tightened his hold on Connie. Still, they did not surprise me in their coming. The faith that every day could be the day they were searching for never dwindled.
When I returned my gaze, he had drawn small flowers in odd places around the ring. I tilted my head, and tried guessing what he was making. The pattern didn't make sense, and the flowers alternated oddly. I watched him again as he scrapped his hand across a nearby rock. He did this a few times until he had gathered a sizable amount of green gunk off the stone, and, artistically, he dipped his pinky into the gunk in order to connect the flowers. He was drawing a ring of ivy.
“So whatever happened to the boy,” I asked, keenly curious to hear the answer.
“We will discover it together,” he said with a smile, and cleaned the gunk off of his hands.
The light from the fire had disappeared halfway throughout his story, and only the embers remained. Itwanu pushed them together, and took out his mat by the cavern wall. I got up, and gathered my things on the other end. I guess we shall, I thought, and laid down for bed; dozing in and out of fantastic dreams involving tomorrow.
This was not my first time falling into the dark chasm of a coma, but somehow this felt more final than being hit by a drunk bus driver. I knew there were no doctors to arrive for me. I truly faced the great, almighty, King of Life, and before his eyes now must prove my worth of existence – that whatever fate awaiting me now would be by my own term. I knew how this game worked, and, with my mind's eye, I created a light in the dark; my tiny gateway back into the world that cast me out, so that by my own bloody hands I would pull my weight like a worm through the dirt.
Yet neither light, nor power, came from me. I merely remained. The darkness wrapped me, and I could not even see myself for its encompassing sprawl. This must mark the end, alone, and chill. The stamp on my fate had sealed for good this time. The tale of Nate ended here, just past the prologue. Fitting, I suppose. Many more than just myself died every single day without a single person there to watch.
But, through the dark, a small gray mist appeared, and I could not understand from where.
“Nate, my boy,” A voice hissed to me, “Nate, you are deserving of so much more than this...”
The mist swayed before shooting towards me, dissipating where I assumed the tip of my nose resided. I let out a gasp and began looking all around me - only darkness, but it was there, this mist. This mist had spread out before my very eyes, and, for that, my bearings had briefly recovered.
“Who... Who are you? Where did you go,” I called out into the space, but nothing stirred. The lost feeling began to return to my body as the knowledge of up and down slowly disappeared. With the comfort of the mist's appearance leaving me, my body lightly tumbled backwards. I cried after the mist again, but nothing returned my call. Was the voice just a hallucination? A meaningless side-effect of being alone after all this time? I could not handle it. My mind was slipping, and I knew what that meant.
The twilight between life and death was like, for the brief moments you are stuck between the realms, growing old very quickly and quietly. If you let the mind wane, then you too would fade with it. Therefore, it was all a man could do to drudge up every form of defiance to this fact. I conjured the images of my loved ones to console me. I tried deceased parents, my girl, Jenny, back home, and of course the two scientists I had only just recently made connection with. However, it brought the adverse effect of making me feel older. Having a circle of loved ones hold my hand to lead me through only made the journey feel more appropriate. So I erased them and considered only myself, and the thoughts of rage towards Death's injustice. No way would I let it rob me of my contributions to the world back home.
“The Hell you think you are,” I cried out, “I have got much too much to do, and the fire of Nathaniel O'Britely won't be snuffed out like some used cigarette!”
“But of course you do... of course, Nathaniel...” The voice returned to say. It spoke arrogantly, like I screamed alongside millions these very words. If this cowardly mist was the embodied voice of God, then He has portrayed himself drastically differently to me.
“Where are you,”I screamed, and began grabbing and grunting angrily. I threw my hands forward, but these actions produced neither sound or result. My clothes, if I had any clothes, made no rustle. Nothing reacted to my efforts, and I placed my locked my fingers over my head; sighing a frustrated breath. I had to collect myself with things I knew. This voice inside my head meant I was in fact not alone, and in fact not hallucinating. Yet, this brought no comfort to my body. It did not mean I would live.
“If you're not going to answer me, then please do not speak to me. I have better things to do than listen to nonsense,” I spat, and the sounds of a grave inward chuckle spread a chill through my spine.
“Like what, dear boy? Like to DIE? Come now, you are not so important,” The voice trailed off, as if it were an imp running through a bush. Then it returned, “But you could be, Nathaniel, what if I gave you a chance...?”
My hands appeared before me, held out and showing my palms. They were sweaty, pulsing, and the form of the mist curled around them, winding up my fingers slowly.
“Could you use these, Nathaniel,” the voice asked me curiously.
What kind of question is that? I make my living with these hands. Without them, art would remain unmade. They were the bridge between the soul and the earth that brought life. Of course, I could use these hands, and I told him so, passionately and with defense.
“Yes, then perhaps you deserve a chance... ,” It said, while suddenly conjoining up against my face. The same moistness that surrounded my hands suddenly caressed my face. It felt cool, refreshing but inherently unwelcome, like a ghost's perversion.“Use them, Nate,” It whispered into my ear, “Seldom does the chance for greatness fall upon the alert to fulfill its bidding.”
The mist dispersed around my head, and, with the same force of the falls that pushed me down, I was sucked upward back through the black. I screamed. What else could I do? I screamed as the insides of me surged against the palm of gravity. The memory of becoming a worm pushing through the Earth surged through my gut as other thoughts of vomiting came close behind. My screams changed to sputters as my throat filled with water that forced its way out of my mouth. The black void dissolved into a white plane as the intimidating cow skull on Itwanu's face cloaked my vision.
“Where am I,” I asked, and squirmed to get up. Itwanu gently kept me down and smiled. I could hear the relieved sigh of Connie and the Professor's yips of glee.
“Glad to see Uluri favors you,” Itwanu said through a smile.
“Wha? Oh... Yeah I'm resilient. It's in the job description,” I said back, and took in my surroundings. We had arrived in the Caverns of Uluri, Itwanu does not truly fancy suicidal tendencies, and the Blairs showed more bravery than I thought. Although, from Connie's scowl, I could tell the trip would not begin as giddy as Professor Blare's skipping suggested – he really was skipping from rock to rock, babbling about whether or not the moss could bear family with another in his lab. I smiled and Itwanu helped me up. While the scientists cackled, I walked back to the falls. Itwanu pointed towards a large net made of vines. Apparently they caught each of us like fish, but camera caught inside it, and Itwanu couldn't get me unhooked.
I looked back at him. He patted my shoulder, and rejoined the others to reel them back in. So, I sat back against the wall. Near-death experiences had a way of requiring just a slight readjustment afterwards. It was then that I felt something sharp prick me in my back pocket. I reached for it, and pulled out a knife. It was dazzling. Gems and gold foiling coated the handle while the blade arched back for a perfect balance. Everybody admired the walls and mystery of our journey, but I took a moment admiring the mystery of this knife – and the way it must have gotten here.
