Fall Ceramic Dm™ - Winner!
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Mythago, are you missing my commentary on Maxfieldjadenfox v spacemonkey?
Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Re-sent to your gmail account.
Something twitchy with the 'email' function via the boards. I might have forgotten to send the last time, but I know I sent this one and the Sialia comments at the same time.
Something twitchy with the 'email' function via the boards. I might have forgotten to send the last time, but I know I sent this one and the Sialia comments at the same time.
maxfieldjadenfox
First Post
I'm looking forward to seeing it, and thanks BardStephenFox for the comments. I guess I have to actually write a story based on these new pictures, huh?
spacemonkey
Official ENworld Space Monkey
Thanks for the comments, and I'm looking forward to Rodrigo Istalindir's as well.
To clear up my pic usage: 'Dignity' was Kay, and the curtain was the nano-screen (which I just mentioned briefly, but was present the entire time, so to speak). I certainly agree some of them were a bit shaky usage-wise. Hopefully I'll have a bit more time to put in on this round (though I'm already 1/3 or the way down :\ )
Anyway, I'm going to look at the pictures now, and I'll see you guys at or before the finish line. Good luck to both Sialia and Maxfieldjadenfox (that saucy minx
)
To clear up my pic usage: 'Dignity' was Kay, and the curtain was the nano-screen (which I just mentioned briefly, but was present the entire time, so to speak). I certainly agree some of them were a bit shaky usage-wise. Hopefully I'll have a bit more time to put in on this round (though I'm already 1/3 or the way down :\ )
Anyway, I'm going to look at the pictures now, and I'll see you guys at or before the finish line. Good luck to both Sialia and Maxfieldjadenfox (that saucy minx
)
maxfieldjadenfox
First Post
spacemonkey said:Anyway, I'm going to look at the pictures now, and I'll see you guys at or before the finish line. Good luck to both Sialia and Maxfieldjadenfox (that saucy minx
That makes me happy!
maxfieldjadenfox
First Post
Okey dokey, here is my CDM story... Done counts for something, right?
Topsy Turvey
By Maxfieldjadenfox
The first soft notes of the chanter were almost inaudible, but slowly, they grew louder, and louder and louder until it was hard to keep from putting your hands over your ears to muffle the sound. The song was discordant, ugly and willful, like a cross between fusion jazz and death metal. The player of this mad melody was a gargoyle named Neville. Neville had once been employed at Notre Dame Cathedral, but he was undependable and had a penchant for hanging upside down, spewing water up onto the roof instead of fountaining it down like a good waterspout gargoyle should. In fact, Neville was as contrary as any gargoyle ever chipped from stone. When he began to play the pipes, the effect was so stunningly terrible that the bladder was taken from him, leaving him with the chanter until he got better or learned to control himself. Unfortunately, neither of these things happened, his music was as awful and destructive 800 years later, which is when this story begins.
Jacob was late. He was late and he was pissed at himself because Mr. Manders had said if he was late one more time, he was fired. Jacob couldn’t afford to be fired. He had just bought a new car, a Beemer, which he felt befit his position as an up and coming junior, junior executive at Manders, Finch and Sloan, and he wasn’t going to blow it because of a stupid frozen waffle. The waffle had gotten stuck in the toaster, and had set off the smoke detector and that had brought the landlord which had led to an angry confrontation, but that didn’t matter. Jacob was late, and he had to make up for lost time. As he tied his purple and green tie while trying to finish his coffee and grab his briefcase, he thought he heard music. Well, that was a charitable description, it was a series of bleated notes that made his head ache and set an odd tingle running at the back of his neck. The music seemed familiar somehow. For a moment, he remembered a dream he had been having, just before he woke up. It hovered at the edge of his mind, but then it was gone. Jacob shook his head. Must be those neighbors upstairs.
‘Jeez, how can people listen to that crap?’ he thought as he climbed behind the wheel of Black Beauty. Nobody knew he had named the car, especially after an old kid’s book character, a girl kid’s book character. He had an image to protect. He revved the engine, not taking the time to let his gem warm up slowly as he usually did.
“Sorry, girl,” he said, ‘I promise this won’t happen again.” He gunned the engine and the back wheel popped the curb. He narrowly missed old Miss Franklin, walking her sausage-like pug, Winston. She shook her cane at him and he yelled “sorry” out the window. Blasting up the 105, radio cranked to drown out the memory of the weird tune, Jacob looked at his Rolex. “Ten til eight. I might still make it.” He pressed the accelerator harder and saw the speedometer shoot up to 110. “Now that’s more like…”
Neville’s tune reached it’s crescendo.
Jacob’s eyes returned to the road in front of him just in time to see the mini van.
“Oh, shi…”
Trooper Dan Stevenson got the call. A wreck on the 105. A bad one. Sirens wailed their way to the scene, Black Beauty inverted, crumpled and smoking , Jacob hanging from the seat belt. Nearby, the mini van, smashed, windshield shattered. The sound of a child’s wailing came from what was left of the back seat. The firemen and paramedics employed the jaws of life as the woman driver of the van, amazingly alert and uninjured, said over and over,
“He just came out of nowhere.”
Jacob heard the sirens. He also heard something else, that damned song he had been hearing all morning. He gradually became aware of an odd pulling sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he was suddenly flying over a deep forest. The song was louder here, and as he watched, something seemed to be happening to one of the trees. It’s leaves were turning grey, as if they were slowly being drained of their color. Above, he saw what looked like DNA molecules floating in the sky, twisting and winding around themselves and each other. He landed with a thud near the trunk and saw that it had turned to stone. He closed his eyes and found himself on a plinth, in the moonlight. That was odd enough, but he seemed to be standing on his hands. “I must be hallucinating,” he thought, “or maybe I’m dead. Maybe this is the afterlife?” He pondered this for a moment. Why would he be standing on his hands on a plinth in the afterlife? He had never been athletic, how was he doing this incredibly long handstand now? He couldn’t feel his body. He knew it was there, because he could see it, but it was as if he were carved out of stone, just like the tree. He stayed that way for a long while, as the sky went from indigo to grey blue and finally to the rosy hue of dawn. Then he heard the music again, more discordant, louder, more insistent. He strained to see where it was coming from, and to his surprise, his eyes made out something coming toward him, something grotesque, stomping along on stumpy legs. It had red eyes and pointed ears, or were they horns? A cowled hood and a rough brown robe, like those worn by monks in the olden days. At it’s lips was a chanter from a set of bagpipes, but somehow it was making a noise like a jet engine. Jacob wished he could plug his ears, but his hands were frozen fast to the plinth, and all he could do was suffer as the awful melody vibrated through his body. Soon all of the trees were drained of their color, and then the ground nearby. Everything had taken on the look of icy marble. The gargoyle smiled, and placed the chanter to his lips again.
Jacob was back in his bed. The melody, if you could call it that, was fading. He looked over at his dresser at the digital alarm clock. 7 AM. Next to the clock was Julie’s ceramic peacock music box, and her pearls. What the? Hadn’t she taken them with her when she left him?
Jacob shook his head hard.
“Sweetie, get up. You’re going to be late.”
Julie was standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand. She was wearing the blue terrycloth bathrobe he had given her for her birthday. She was beautiful. What was she doing here?
“Seriously. Here. How about some music to start your day?”
She picked up the peacock and twisted the key on the bottom. A melody began to play.
“I know this song,” he said, “It’s the one that the gargoyle in the forest was playing when…” He stopped. What was he talking about?
The paramedic stood by the remains of Black Beauty. His fingers were on Jacob’s throat, feeling for a pulse.
“Afraid this guys a goner,” he said. Trooper Stevenson next to him shrugged.
“Call it.”
“Eight Ten. Wonder what the hurry was?”
“Who knows?” Stevenson took off his mirrored sunglasses, and wiped them on his shirt. “Huh. That’s funny, where’s that music coming from?”
The paramedic reached into the car, and pulled out the peacock.
“Must have turned on from the impact. Wonder why it didn’t break? Crazy tune, huh?” He put the peacock back next to Jacob, who lay on the pavement, unseeing eyes open to the summer sky.
Somewhere, miles and eons away, Neville smiled.
Topsy Turvey
By Maxfieldjadenfox
The first soft notes of the chanter were almost inaudible, but slowly, they grew louder, and louder and louder until it was hard to keep from putting your hands over your ears to muffle the sound. The song was discordant, ugly and willful, like a cross between fusion jazz and death metal. The player of this mad melody was a gargoyle named Neville. Neville had once been employed at Notre Dame Cathedral, but he was undependable and had a penchant for hanging upside down, spewing water up onto the roof instead of fountaining it down like a good waterspout gargoyle should. In fact, Neville was as contrary as any gargoyle ever chipped from stone. When he began to play the pipes, the effect was so stunningly terrible that the bladder was taken from him, leaving him with the chanter until he got better or learned to control himself. Unfortunately, neither of these things happened, his music was as awful and destructive 800 years later, which is when this story begins.
Jacob was late. He was late and he was pissed at himself because Mr. Manders had said if he was late one more time, he was fired. Jacob couldn’t afford to be fired. He had just bought a new car, a Beemer, which he felt befit his position as an up and coming junior, junior executive at Manders, Finch and Sloan, and he wasn’t going to blow it because of a stupid frozen waffle. The waffle had gotten stuck in the toaster, and had set off the smoke detector and that had brought the landlord which had led to an angry confrontation, but that didn’t matter. Jacob was late, and he had to make up for lost time. As he tied his purple and green tie while trying to finish his coffee and grab his briefcase, he thought he heard music. Well, that was a charitable description, it was a series of bleated notes that made his head ache and set an odd tingle running at the back of his neck. The music seemed familiar somehow. For a moment, he remembered a dream he had been having, just before he woke up. It hovered at the edge of his mind, but then it was gone. Jacob shook his head. Must be those neighbors upstairs.
‘Jeez, how can people listen to that crap?’ he thought as he climbed behind the wheel of Black Beauty. Nobody knew he had named the car, especially after an old kid’s book character, a girl kid’s book character. He had an image to protect. He revved the engine, not taking the time to let his gem warm up slowly as he usually did.
“Sorry, girl,” he said, ‘I promise this won’t happen again.” He gunned the engine and the back wheel popped the curb. He narrowly missed old Miss Franklin, walking her sausage-like pug, Winston. She shook her cane at him and he yelled “sorry” out the window. Blasting up the 105, radio cranked to drown out the memory of the weird tune, Jacob looked at his Rolex. “Ten til eight. I might still make it.” He pressed the accelerator harder and saw the speedometer shoot up to 110. “Now that’s more like…”
Neville’s tune reached it’s crescendo.
Jacob’s eyes returned to the road in front of him just in time to see the mini van.
“Oh, shi…”
Trooper Dan Stevenson got the call. A wreck on the 105. A bad one. Sirens wailed their way to the scene, Black Beauty inverted, crumpled and smoking , Jacob hanging from the seat belt. Nearby, the mini van, smashed, windshield shattered. The sound of a child’s wailing came from what was left of the back seat. The firemen and paramedics employed the jaws of life as the woman driver of the van, amazingly alert and uninjured, said over and over,
“He just came out of nowhere.”
Jacob heard the sirens. He also heard something else, that damned song he had been hearing all morning. He gradually became aware of an odd pulling sensation in the pit of his stomach, and he was suddenly flying over a deep forest. The song was louder here, and as he watched, something seemed to be happening to one of the trees. It’s leaves were turning grey, as if they were slowly being drained of their color. Above, he saw what looked like DNA molecules floating in the sky, twisting and winding around themselves and each other. He landed with a thud near the trunk and saw that it had turned to stone. He closed his eyes and found himself on a plinth, in the moonlight. That was odd enough, but he seemed to be standing on his hands. “I must be hallucinating,” he thought, “or maybe I’m dead. Maybe this is the afterlife?” He pondered this for a moment. Why would he be standing on his hands on a plinth in the afterlife? He had never been athletic, how was he doing this incredibly long handstand now? He couldn’t feel his body. He knew it was there, because he could see it, but it was as if he were carved out of stone, just like the tree. He stayed that way for a long while, as the sky went from indigo to grey blue and finally to the rosy hue of dawn. Then he heard the music again, more discordant, louder, more insistent. He strained to see where it was coming from, and to his surprise, his eyes made out something coming toward him, something grotesque, stomping along on stumpy legs. It had red eyes and pointed ears, or were they horns? A cowled hood and a rough brown robe, like those worn by monks in the olden days. At it’s lips was a chanter from a set of bagpipes, but somehow it was making a noise like a jet engine. Jacob wished he could plug his ears, but his hands were frozen fast to the plinth, and all he could do was suffer as the awful melody vibrated through his body. Soon all of the trees were drained of their color, and then the ground nearby. Everything had taken on the look of icy marble. The gargoyle smiled, and placed the chanter to his lips again.
Jacob was back in his bed. The melody, if you could call it that, was fading. He looked over at his dresser at the digital alarm clock. 7 AM. Next to the clock was Julie’s ceramic peacock music box, and her pearls. What the? Hadn’t she taken them with her when she left him?
Jacob shook his head hard.
“Sweetie, get up. You’re going to be late.”
Julie was standing in the doorway, a cup of coffee in her hand. She was wearing the blue terrycloth bathrobe he had given her for her birthday. She was beautiful. What was she doing here?
“Seriously. Here. How about some music to start your day?”
She picked up the peacock and twisted the key on the bottom. A melody began to play.
“I know this song,” he said, “It’s the one that the gargoyle in the forest was playing when…” He stopped. What was he talking about?
The paramedic stood by the remains of Black Beauty. His fingers were on Jacob’s throat, feeling for a pulse.
“Afraid this guys a goner,” he said. Trooper Stevenson next to him shrugged.
“Call it.”
“Eight Ten. Wonder what the hurry was?”
“Who knows?” Stevenson took off his mirrored sunglasses, and wiped them on his shirt. “Huh. That’s funny, where’s that music coming from?”
The paramedic reached into the car, and pulled out the peacock.
“Must have turned on from the impact. Wonder why it didn’t break? Crazy tune, huh?” He put the peacock back next to Jacob, who lay on the pavement, unseeing eyes open to the summer sky.
Somewhere, miles and eons away, Neville smiled.
spacemonkey
Official ENworld Space Monkey
maxfieldjadenfox vs. Sialia vs. spacemonkey
Spacemonkey - "Sight"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Relax, my friend. The jungle is dangerous, yes... but so is the city."
Carlos' wide grin flickered in and out of view in the firelight. Despite his misgivings, Tiago smiled as well. Carlos always had that effect on him - probably the most important reason they were still friends after so many years. And so many hairbrained schemes hatched from that melonball atop his shoulders, Tiago mused.
"I suppose you are right Carlos. But don't let it go to your head, it's big enough already!"
As the pair settled down in their sleeping bags, Tiago caught the image of Atkins staring at him from across the fire. Or maybe he had nodded off already sitting there. It was impossible to tell from behind those chromed shades.
"Was there any time the scientist didn't wear them? Or doesn't make my stomach turn, just a little?" Tiago thought as he drifted off to sleep. "I'll be glad to get this trip over with, regardless of Carlos' assurances..."
---
He grew to hate that blank mien as the days went by. Atkins' blank face was accentuated only by Tiago's own staring back at him, reflected. He saw fear in those eyes sometimes, though he did not know why.
He let Carlos speak with the scientist whenever possible, instead of doing it himself. Atkins' other companions were much more affable, anyway. The four sinewed men, apparently natives of the region (strange accents aside), were at least decently interesting. They had promised to reveal their linguistic past when they returned to civilization, if he had not guessed it by then. "And I most likely will not, at this rate." He thought to himself. "Even still, I may write a paper on the subject, assuming it turns out to be half as interesting as it seems now when I'm back at the university." The long trudge through the undergrowth seemed easier (and the heavy pack a bit lighter) while he posed them discerning questions, at any rate.
It still seemed like ages before they reached the higher foothills of the mountains. Carlos had not known why this Atkins had wanted to go during this, of all seasons. Any other would have been easier - they could have even taken a helicopter or small plane. "Don't worry about it, he probably wants the 'authentic rain forest' experience" Carlos had said. "And besides, we get paid many more days this way."
Looking at Carlos now, he seemed eons away from that enthusiastic figure who, on that day, had rubbed his hands together in monetary glee. "The fog is never behind, only in front," he said softly.
"What's that Tiago? Not mumbling incoherently from the hiking already, are we?" Carlos slapped him on the back as he caught up with him, smiling. "Atkins says we are stopping to plan our route from here. Time to start the real work.."
Tiago followed his friend's eyes as they turned to the lofty, snow-capped peaks above. At least the winter things would be of use now. Carlos read his thoughts easily. "No, you did not drag that pack through the jungle for nothing, my friend. I told you it would pay off eventually, as you will soon see. We may have both grown up here, but even you must admit I know more about our southern Brazilian mountains than you - degree or no." He smiled. "Now let's get over there and help them plan, before Atkins decides the 'best' route all on his own, no?"
Tiago let Carlos do most of the planning, as did Atkins. "At least he has sense enough for that," Tiago thought. More interesting were the symbols the natives drew on the ground. Tiago tried to ask about them, but all he got were annoyed stares before they scuffed the drawings from the dirt.
Probably some secret tribal code. He tried to get a look after they wandered off to ready the supplies, but there was nothing intelligible left. He had only had a glimpse, but had he seen rudimentary pictograms set in a picture of the sky above a forest? "I wonder if the picture had any meaning for the symbols, or if the opposite is true?" He turned to watch the natives unpack coats and heavy fur pants. "I must attempt to broach the subject, but delicately, at a later time." Perhaps this journey would yield more unexpected discoveries yet. The natives certainly were the saving grace for him on this adventure. It would have been most dull without them around. Tiago smiled, but his expression soon faded as he stared at the difficult terrain he was to face. "Tomorrow we leave - straight up the mountain, more or less," Carlos called to him.
"Wonderful," Tiago thought. He barely paid attention as Carlos showed them all how to tie a powerful knot that would not slip or bind much, even in the cold.
---
The four days that followed were the most arduous of Tiago's life. Bitter cold, infrequent rests, and a mouthful of brandy now and again were all he remembered by the time they reached their destination. The rest was numbed out of his memories by the toil and snow of the mountain trek. Now he knew real snow, real winter. Not like the few flakes that fell once in his home village. Tiago thanked his stars that he lived in the southern americas, and for the fact that he would never again have to endure such a thing as real winter again. Not if he had anything to say in the matter.
Then, suddenly they stopped. The mountain slope ahead had a huge swath of rock missing, almost as if it had been carved from the mountainside at the forging of the world. It formed a shallow, but tall and wide, cave of sorts. As if God had run his finger softly across the width of the rock, just to judge its worthiness. Nestled inside were the remains of a stone city, buried by time, rock, and snow.
Atkins rushed forward, followed closely by the natives and Carlos. Tiago followed, his own weariness not quite lifted. He was intrigued, however. He hadn't really thought that the journey would be of real significance, despite Atkins' affirmations. Looking at the ruins ahead, he felt now that he may have been rash in coming to that conclusion.
It took half a day of crawling about the ruins to satisfy Atkins. Tiago had just found an old fresco, with a familiar scene emblazoned upon it when he heard his shouts of triumph. Making a quick sketch in his journal - trees, sky and symbols, just as he had seen days ago on the forest floor - he headed toward the jubilant cries. "They must be of the same tribe these ruins were inhabited by," he thought. "I wonder if they should be trusting that Atkins with their history. I don't think I would have."
The last to join the others, Tiago received a terrible fright. Atkins was staring at him, his eyes alien and horrific! It only took a moment to realize it was the object in his hands reflecting off his mirrored eyewear, and nothing more. He sighed, somewhat relieved. None of the others noticed what must have been quite a disturbed look on Tiago's own face, though Atkins cocked his head just a bit - or had he?. No matter, he hadn't seemed to take offense, and was babbling about his find. "Am I that skittish of him, that I care what he thinks?" Tiago thought disgustedly. "I pray we are nearly done now that he has what he came for."
The object turned out to be a small statue, in the shape of a peacock. "Rather awfully gaudy it seems to me," he thought as he looked at it. "The feathers certainly do resemble eyes though, with their shape and the stone at the center of each. Were those pearls? Hard to imagine what a mountain people would have had to trade for such baubles. Certainly more than they were worth, I'd bet." There was a little bit of wear or discoloration on the peacock's body, but the lower tail seemed quite untouched by time. Maybe it was buried partway, and half was preserved better than the other, he mused.
Tiago helped Carlos map out the next leg of the journey as the natives and Atkins packed up a few more finds - those going directly into packs and not lovingly cradled as the peacock had been, he noticed. This time he was quite interested in the map, as it now showed the return trip - something he was keenly interested in.
"Here we go around this peak, then down the other side," Carlos was saying. "It should be easy going down it, but I'm glad we took the easy route up."
Tiago cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well, easier at least," Carlos said, with an only slightly sheepish grin.
As the packing finished, Tiago wandered about the cavern, examining the buildings and occasional piece of pottery. At the far side he came upon a strange sight. Piles of snow, eight or ten feet high and quite narrow, freestanding in a large cluster. He began to sketch them in his journal. The shapes were quite fascinating, like a collection of snowy stalagmites. Carlos found him there, staring at one of the formations.
"Hey buddy, time to get moving. We only have a little light for today, and I - hey Tiago, you dropped your book. Tiago?"
Tiago barely heard him. Staring out from the outer layer of snow, encased in ice, was a face. A horrific, bestial face, but with aspects of a man. The others were the same, he saw that now. A frozen white finger there, a tuft of hair (or fur?) there. The sight of the snow-limned grotesquerie had frozen him where he stood.
As Carlos shook his paralysis out of him, he only pointed behind him. Carlos was too busy rousing his friend, and never saw the blow strike, just above his neck. Tiago was next, though he may have fainted before the blow actually struck. He would never be sure, one way or the other.
"Wish ya hadn't of seen that." Atkins chewed out as the native dropped the bloody rock and hefted one of the bodies. "I was a-hopin' we'd at least let you walk back to the forest on your own."
---
Things were muddled as Tiago wakened. He felt weary, as if he had slept a long and unnatural sleep, with no dreams. In later days, he would long for that blessed terror-free rest to return.
His first thought was pleasant. "I'm out of the cold." The light filtering through the canopy was pleasant. Then he remembered. He was lying on something hard and flat. A rock or table. Why were his arms held? With horror, his slowly clearing sight beheld a scene utterly out of reason to his still stupor-held mind.
The natives stood, naked, in the clearing about him. They were mutilated. Large knife wounds criss-crossed their bodies in strange symbols, but the blood flowed slowly upwards instead of down to the ground. A misshapen figure played a discordant melody upon a strange bone flute. The wind was howling about, and it seemed to flow with the music itself, eerily. Gazing upwards to where all the others seemed to be looking, he saw a black gash in the blue sky, and glowing green symbols (all too familiar now) circling around it slowly, but with increasing speed.
The peacock sat near him. It glowed vermilion, and pulsed in time to the shrill sounds of the flute and the wind, but only the tail. The body itself was dull and lifeless. He clearly saw the dividing line upon it now - where the older ring of eyes had been topped with a disguising peacock body sometime long ago. Something about it filled him with dread far surpassing the scene around him, but when he reached for it, to push it away, he found his hands were tied. The knots, he noticed with a grimace, were expertly tied - just as Carlos had unwittingly shown them. Carlos! He looked at his friend, but saw only his corpse. Blood flowed from his wrists, and was drawn in whisps towards the statue. His friend's cords had been cut with his wrists, but Carlos' free hands could not help him now.
Tiago writhed, trying to move his feet close enough to the statue. The bestial figure noticed him now, and motioned for the natives to move to him, perhaps to kill him as well. He squirmed the harder, but the sky opened then with a terrible roar. Black night spewed forth from the expanding gash above, as the symbols converged upon it. Lying on his back, staring into that void, Tiago's mind screamed. His legs jerked still, but just managed to connect with the statue. It skittered to the edge of the altar, and dropped off the end, out of sight. Above the roaring sky, the flute music, the shouts of the natives, he heard a tiny crash, as if fine porcelain were hitting stone. A glowing red mist shot upward and out of sight into the blackness.
Immediately the symbols disappeared from his sight. The wind picked up, but it was no longer in harmony. Now it was a roaring gale, sucking all things to the sky - devouring them into the black void. The natives went first, then Carlos' limp form. Tiago had a fleeting glimpse of the beast-figure, as it reverted to Atkins - all but the eyes. His eyewear gone, Tiago saw him as he was for a split second before he too was swallowed up by the vacuum. His own legs were lifted, and the cords cut deeply into his skin. Only the sure knots saved him as he hung there for what seemed like eternity, inverted on the altar with his feet towards hell.
He awoke later, exhausted. His wrists were numb, but he managed after a long time to cut his bonds on the sharp edge of the altar stone. There were only small signs of what had transpired, but mostly broken branches and empty space greeted him. When he gathered the courage to look over the edge of the altar where the statue had dropped out of sight, he saw only two halves of a ring of eyes. A tiny replica of what had stared back at him while his mind screamed as he peered into that black void.
He ran, not caring about direction or supplies. He pumped his legs, affirming that he was alive, while simultaneously hoping that the jungle would finish him soon. As long as he did not meet that same visage when he passed from this world...
Spacemonkey - "Sight"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Relax, my friend. The jungle is dangerous, yes... but so is the city."
Carlos' wide grin flickered in and out of view in the firelight. Despite his misgivings, Tiago smiled as well. Carlos always had that effect on him - probably the most important reason they were still friends after so many years. And so many hairbrained schemes hatched from that melonball atop his shoulders, Tiago mused.
"I suppose you are right Carlos. But don't let it go to your head, it's big enough already!"
As the pair settled down in their sleeping bags, Tiago caught the image of Atkins staring at him from across the fire. Or maybe he had nodded off already sitting there. It was impossible to tell from behind those chromed shades.
"Was there any time the scientist didn't wear them? Or doesn't make my stomach turn, just a little?" Tiago thought as he drifted off to sleep. "I'll be glad to get this trip over with, regardless of Carlos' assurances..."
---
He grew to hate that blank mien as the days went by. Atkins' blank face was accentuated only by Tiago's own staring back at him, reflected. He saw fear in those eyes sometimes, though he did not know why.
He let Carlos speak with the scientist whenever possible, instead of doing it himself. Atkins' other companions were much more affable, anyway. The four sinewed men, apparently natives of the region (strange accents aside), were at least decently interesting. They had promised to reveal their linguistic past when they returned to civilization, if he had not guessed it by then. "And I most likely will not, at this rate." He thought to himself. "Even still, I may write a paper on the subject, assuming it turns out to be half as interesting as it seems now when I'm back at the university." The long trudge through the undergrowth seemed easier (and the heavy pack a bit lighter) while he posed them discerning questions, at any rate.
It still seemed like ages before they reached the higher foothills of the mountains. Carlos had not known why this Atkins had wanted to go during this, of all seasons. Any other would have been easier - they could have even taken a helicopter or small plane. "Don't worry about it, he probably wants the 'authentic rain forest' experience" Carlos had said. "And besides, we get paid many more days this way."
Looking at Carlos now, he seemed eons away from that enthusiastic figure who, on that day, had rubbed his hands together in monetary glee. "The fog is never behind, only in front," he said softly.
"What's that Tiago? Not mumbling incoherently from the hiking already, are we?" Carlos slapped him on the back as he caught up with him, smiling. "Atkins says we are stopping to plan our route from here. Time to start the real work.."
Tiago followed his friend's eyes as they turned to the lofty, snow-capped peaks above. At least the winter things would be of use now. Carlos read his thoughts easily. "No, you did not drag that pack through the jungle for nothing, my friend. I told you it would pay off eventually, as you will soon see. We may have both grown up here, but even you must admit I know more about our southern Brazilian mountains than you - degree or no." He smiled. "Now let's get over there and help them plan, before Atkins decides the 'best' route all on his own, no?"
Tiago let Carlos do most of the planning, as did Atkins. "At least he has sense enough for that," Tiago thought. More interesting were the symbols the natives drew on the ground. Tiago tried to ask about them, but all he got were annoyed stares before they scuffed the drawings from the dirt.
Probably some secret tribal code. He tried to get a look after they wandered off to ready the supplies, but there was nothing intelligible left. He had only had a glimpse, but had he seen rudimentary pictograms set in a picture of the sky above a forest? "I wonder if the picture had any meaning for the symbols, or if the opposite is true?" He turned to watch the natives unpack coats and heavy fur pants. "I must attempt to broach the subject, but delicately, at a later time." Perhaps this journey would yield more unexpected discoveries yet. The natives certainly were the saving grace for him on this adventure. It would have been most dull without them around. Tiago smiled, but his expression soon faded as he stared at the difficult terrain he was to face. "Tomorrow we leave - straight up the mountain, more or less," Carlos called to him.
"Wonderful," Tiago thought. He barely paid attention as Carlos showed them all how to tie a powerful knot that would not slip or bind much, even in the cold.
---
The four days that followed were the most arduous of Tiago's life. Bitter cold, infrequent rests, and a mouthful of brandy now and again were all he remembered by the time they reached their destination. The rest was numbed out of his memories by the toil and snow of the mountain trek. Now he knew real snow, real winter. Not like the few flakes that fell once in his home village. Tiago thanked his stars that he lived in the southern americas, and for the fact that he would never again have to endure such a thing as real winter again. Not if he had anything to say in the matter.
Then, suddenly they stopped. The mountain slope ahead had a huge swath of rock missing, almost as if it had been carved from the mountainside at the forging of the world. It formed a shallow, but tall and wide, cave of sorts. As if God had run his finger softly across the width of the rock, just to judge its worthiness. Nestled inside were the remains of a stone city, buried by time, rock, and snow.
Atkins rushed forward, followed closely by the natives and Carlos. Tiago followed, his own weariness not quite lifted. He was intrigued, however. He hadn't really thought that the journey would be of real significance, despite Atkins' affirmations. Looking at the ruins ahead, he felt now that he may have been rash in coming to that conclusion.
It took half a day of crawling about the ruins to satisfy Atkins. Tiago had just found an old fresco, with a familiar scene emblazoned upon it when he heard his shouts of triumph. Making a quick sketch in his journal - trees, sky and symbols, just as he had seen days ago on the forest floor - he headed toward the jubilant cries. "They must be of the same tribe these ruins were inhabited by," he thought. "I wonder if they should be trusting that Atkins with their history. I don't think I would have."
The last to join the others, Tiago received a terrible fright. Atkins was staring at him, his eyes alien and horrific! It only took a moment to realize it was the object in his hands reflecting off his mirrored eyewear, and nothing more. He sighed, somewhat relieved. None of the others noticed what must have been quite a disturbed look on Tiago's own face, though Atkins cocked his head just a bit - or had he?. No matter, he hadn't seemed to take offense, and was babbling about his find. "Am I that skittish of him, that I care what he thinks?" Tiago thought disgustedly. "I pray we are nearly done now that he has what he came for."
The object turned out to be a small statue, in the shape of a peacock. "Rather awfully gaudy it seems to me," he thought as he looked at it. "The feathers certainly do resemble eyes though, with their shape and the stone at the center of each. Were those pearls? Hard to imagine what a mountain people would have had to trade for such baubles. Certainly more than they were worth, I'd bet." There was a little bit of wear or discoloration on the peacock's body, but the lower tail seemed quite untouched by time. Maybe it was buried partway, and half was preserved better than the other, he mused.
Tiago helped Carlos map out the next leg of the journey as the natives and Atkins packed up a few more finds - those going directly into packs and not lovingly cradled as the peacock had been, he noticed. This time he was quite interested in the map, as it now showed the return trip - something he was keenly interested in.
"Here we go around this peak, then down the other side," Carlos was saying. "It should be easy going down it, but I'm glad we took the easy route up."
Tiago cocked an eyebrow at him. "Well, easier at least," Carlos said, with an only slightly sheepish grin.
As the packing finished, Tiago wandered about the cavern, examining the buildings and occasional piece of pottery. At the far side he came upon a strange sight. Piles of snow, eight or ten feet high and quite narrow, freestanding in a large cluster. He began to sketch them in his journal. The shapes were quite fascinating, like a collection of snowy stalagmites. Carlos found him there, staring at one of the formations.
"Hey buddy, time to get moving. We only have a little light for today, and I - hey Tiago, you dropped your book. Tiago?"
Tiago barely heard him. Staring out from the outer layer of snow, encased in ice, was a face. A horrific, bestial face, but with aspects of a man. The others were the same, he saw that now. A frozen white finger there, a tuft of hair (or fur?) there. The sight of the snow-limned grotesquerie had frozen him where he stood.
As Carlos shook his paralysis out of him, he only pointed behind him. Carlos was too busy rousing his friend, and never saw the blow strike, just above his neck. Tiago was next, though he may have fainted before the blow actually struck. He would never be sure, one way or the other.
"Wish ya hadn't of seen that." Atkins chewed out as the native dropped the bloody rock and hefted one of the bodies. "I was a-hopin' we'd at least let you walk back to the forest on your own."
---
Things were muddled as Tiago wakened. He felt weary, as if he had slept a long and unnatural sleep, with no dreams. In later days, he would long for that blessed terror-free rest to return.
His first thought was pleasant. "I'm out of the cold." The light filtering through the canopy was pleasant. Then he remembered. He was lying on something hard and flat. A rock or table. Why were his arms held? With horror, his slowly clearing sight beheld a scene utterly out of reason to his still stupor-held mind.
The natives stood, naked, in the clearing about him. They were mutilated. Large knife wounds criss-crossed their bodies in strange symbols, but the blood flowed slowly upwards instead of down to the ground. A misshapen figure played a discordant melody upon a strange bone flute. The wind was howling about, and it seemed to flow with the music itself, eerily. Gazing upwards to where all the others seemed to be looking, he saw a black gash in the blue sky, and glowing green symbols (all too familiar now) circling around it slowly, but with increasing speed.
The peacock sat near him. It glowed vermilion, and pulsed in time to the shrill sounds of the flute and the wind, but only the tail. The body itself was dull and lifeless. He clearly saw the dividing line upon it now - where the older ring of eyes had been topped with a disguising peacock body sometime long ago. Something about it filled him with dread far surpassing the scene around him, but when he reached for it, to push it away, he found his hands were tied. The knots, he noticed with a grimace, were expertly tied - just as Carlos had unwittingly shown them. Carlos! He looked at his friend, but saw only his corpse. Blood flowed from his wrists, and was drawn in whisps towards the statue. His friend's cords had been cut with his wrists, but Carlos' free hands could not help him now.
Tiago writhed, trying to move his feet close enough to the statue. The bestial figure noticed him now, and motioned for the natives to move to him, perhaps to kill him as well. He squirmed the harder, but the sky opened then with a terrible roar. Black night spewed forth from the expanding gash above, as the symbols converged upon it. Lying on his back, staring into that void, Tiago's mind screamed. His legs jerked still, but just managed to connect with the statue. It skittered to the edge of the altar, and dropped off the end, out of sight. Above the roaring sky, the flute music, the shouts of the natives, he heard a tiny crash, as if fine porcelain were hitting stone. A glowing red mist shot upward and out of sight into the blackness.
Immediately the symbols disappeared from his sight. The wind picked up, but it was no longer in harmony. Now it was a roaring gale, sucking all things to the sky - devouring them into the black void. The natives went first, then Carlos' limp form. Tiago had a fleeting glimpse of the beast-figure, as it reverted to Atkins - all but the eyes. His eyewear gone, Tiago saw him as he was for a split second before he too was swallowed up by the vacuum. His own legs were lifted, and the cords cut deeply into his skin. Only the sure knots saved him as he hung there for what seemed like eternity, inverted on the altar with his feet towards hell.
He awoke later, exhausted. His wrists were numb, but he managed after a long time to cut his bonds on the sharp edge of the altar stone. There were only small signs of what had transpired, but mostly broken branches and empty space greeted him. When he gathered the courage to look over the edge of the altar where the statue had dropped out of sight, he saw only two halves of a ring of eyes. A tiny replica of what had stared back at him while his mind screamed as he peered into that black void.
He ran, not caring about direction or supplies. He pumped his legs, affirming that he was alive, while simultaneously hoping that the jungle would finish him soon. As long as he did not meet that same visage when he passed from this world...
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