Climbing Into the Light – Chapter 48

A hard, crackling and ripping sound rumbled ominously from the rocky aperture where the glowing beam of light pierced the cave.  The sensory power of the terrible disjointed story left us breathing heavily, almost gasping.  Adrenaline pulsing in our ears.  This story, Laura’s connection to it, and its ominous tones of threat and dehumanization left me sick to my stomach.  Tears welled in my eyes and I could barely hold them back.  I glanced sideways at Nell and saw her pained, stricken look as if she had just been told again of the deaths of her parents.  The raw feeling and burden caused by her Seer’s gift weighed heavily upon her, and I saw her lean against Begglar to mask the weakness she felt from it and to steady the trembling in her body as the experience of the shock-wave took its toll on her.

A rotting, black-skinned, swollen carcass, about the size of a small dog, lay tucked into a corner of the trunk, its legs splayed outward, small hooves on the end of each short stumpy leg.  The smell was overpowering, and we covered our noses and mouths, our eyes watered with the pungent assault.  Death’s distortions had made it unrecognizable, at first, but it was clear that the animal was or had once been a small pig.  Begglar reached in and grabbed one of its trotters and jerked the mass out of the trunk and tossed it away, down onto the lower portion of the junk pile where it bounced and exploded with a sickening pop of sulfurous gasses, and then tumbled with a plop down into the bluish-green water below, bobbing with an oily film spreading out over the water.  The smelled had lessened considerably, but its presence haunted the interior of the compartment where it had been festering while entombed with Laura.

Laura visibly shivered, gasping as if she had taken her first breath of clean air in some time.  Cataracts that had occluded her eyes and had revealed tiny convex reflections of other places began to darken.  As she drew in deep, heaving breaths of raw air no longer tainted with the scent of death, she exhaled misty shadowy grey plumes of vapor from her mouth and nostrils.  The strange otherworldly gleam reflected in Laura’s eyes had seemed to resolve back into the normal dilation of her pupils, and the grey-blue of her beautifully large irises seemed to focus on us at last.  The wild-eyed terror and panic she’d expressed from within the hollow darkness of the trunk compartment seemed to lessen as she began to affect the possibility that we were really there with her.  With frail fingers, she lifted her trembling hand and pulled strands of her hair aside from her face and field of vision.  Straining hard to see us, her eyes at last growing accustomed to the stray beam of light bathing her in a cool glow from the top of the junk pile and surface overhead.
Recognition dawned upon her, as she looked up at us from face to face.

Her eyes filled with tears as I spoke her name.

“Laura.”

She made a sharp Ahh sound, swallowed hard, and whispered aloud to herself, “I thought it was only a dream.”  Her voice, raw and raspy from the hours of unheard pleas, broke into ragged sobs of relief and hope cast a ray of growing searching light into the shadowy corner of her soul.  “I had to come back.  I had no place else to go.”

As gently as we could, we all leaned in to help Laura crawl out of the trunk.  She was so weak, and her body was frail.  Once so headstrong, independent and healthy, she looked as if she might bruise and break easily.  Christie, laughed through streaming tears of joy, as she steadied Laura to her feet, almost carrying her.  I so wanted to hold Laura and hug her close, assuring her that she was now safe and in the company of those who cared deeply about her, but I did not want to make her any more uncomfortable than she already was, having been found in such an ignominious fashion, barely clothed, malnourished and dehydrated.  None of those things mattered to me, in the slightest, but I saw her look down at herself, cover her bare legs with the tail end of her shirt and blush slightly.  They mattered to her, and that was enough.  What she needed to know is that we cared about her.  That her life mattered and that the words of her father could have no power over her is she would only choose not to believe them.

“I had so hoped, you would come back,” Christie was saying, as she held Laura, cradling her arm around her back.  We placed gentling hands on her shoulder, head, and upper arms, giving Laura the warmth of caring human contact.  I slung my knapsack off my shoulder, rummaged through the open flap, searching and finally found the extra rolled cloak I had buried within.  I pulled it free, allowing its thick woolen fabric to unroll, slinging the shoulder strap back onto my back with my free arm and offered it to Christie to drape over Laura, giving her additional warmth that our hands and hugs alone could not supply.  Laura looked up and smiled gratefully at me, as Christie, Nell and I covered her, and also gave her the dignity she also so desperately needed.

I have so many regrets, but the one that stood out in my mind at this moment was not being able to persuade her to stay with us before she returned to that.  But she was alive and here, and with life, there is always the chance to find a new path and a new way to live in freedom and find triumph.

Maeven too was a miracle.  She too had been given back to us, as Laura had been, and the mysteries of their stories and individual tragedies were deep waters that we would eventually have to bring life to.  And James.  His story puzzled me.  I did not know if he was conscious that the story emanated from him when he’d stepped into the ghost pool because his expression seemed unreadable after it.  Like he was in some way disassociated with it.  I seriously needed to talk to Nell again as soon as possible, but it would have to be at another time.  Right now, we had an unstable hill of junk to climb, and we needed to get out of this cave as soon as possible.  The others would be waiting for our return.  Probably were extremely worried by now since the cave in pushed us further in to these deeper caverns.  I had the Pearl safely tucked away in its map pouch.  Eventually…  The Pearl.  Oh no!  Oh NO!

Maeven had said not to remove the Pearl from the ice.  And I hadn’t.  It had shown up in the caves, had flash frozen the poisoned Ghost Pool, rolled across and landed on the dry cave floor near my feet.  When I had retrieved it, it had not been on the ice.  A technicality, but still consistent with the instructions given to me.

The boys had gone to fetch the log, at my bidding, and the three others stood guard outside of the entrance to the caverns beneath the falls.  If the Pearl was off the surface of the lake, as I suspected, the lake water would thaw, even as it had mysteriously flash frozen.  The thoughts of panic and implications of what I’d done, threatened to overwhelm me.  I may have sent all of them to their deaths.  Mason, I knew, didn’t know how to swim, but even if he had, the temperature of the water would be too cold to survive in it more than a few minutes.  The three others, who had trusted me, had joined us out on the frozen lake, two young men, and the young women who had stood by me when the party had considered whether I was fit to lead down at the granary, before the Shibboleth test and the Banshee had been exposed.  Had I put them at risk too?  When the falls came to life, and the ice thawed, would they be crushed by the avalanche as the Trathorn awakened again?  My world was crashing in on me.  But I had to know.  I could not let my fear and terror and this rising dread cripple me again as it had once before so very long ago.  There was a reason why the One called me.  Why He would not let me stay in self-appointed seclusion.  There had to be some purpose for all of this.  Some good that would come of it.  I had no choice but to either choose to yield to fear or trust that something good might come of the choices I had made to follow.  The commitment to take responsibility for my actions and the choices I made in leadership.  I had to remain calm, knowing that the immediate course of action was to ensure that our group here at least made it safely out of these caves.  What tragedies lie ahead, and what came of my decisions would have to be faced with the knowledge of what we encountered when we surfaced again.

Maeven had been found and for all practical purposes had physically recovered from her wound.  Laura had returned to us, though the way in which we’d found her disturbed me, and the implications of her projected story was chilling.  I did not know if the tale was connected to some personal experience or some view of herself, but it would require unpacking as would James’ tale.  Something connected them to these.  A view each had of themselves, expressed by their projected stories.  I was glad to have Laura back, and I could not bear to lose her again to the nightmare she lived in under her Surface World life.  Gathering my composure, I did not wish to throw a damper on the short celebratory feeling we felt in finding both young women again.  But we had to move.  And move very soon.

“We have quite a bit to catch up on,” I said to the group, “but this is not the place to do it.  Let’s get outside if we can.  Follow the light beam overhead.  Be very careful.  Watch your footing.  We don’t know what else is in these caves, but we need to rally back to the group.”

“Did you bring the branch to the falls,” Maeven asked.

“We…,” I turned to Maeven, “the boys went after it, while we entered the caves behind the waterfall.  They were supposed to bring it and we would meet them outside.  When the Pearl showed up, we were carrying you into the central Ghost Pool.”

Maeven took my arm to steady herself, “The Pearl showed up?” she took a deep breath.

“What do you mean the Pearl showed up?”

“It rolled into the cave and sealed off one of the poisoned pools,” Christie offered.

Laura was weak, but puzzled by our conversation, “What is this about?  What Pearl?”

Nell had her arm around her and gently hugged her shoulder, “Bless you, child,” she comforted, “There’s a lot that’s happened since you left us.”

Maeven looked around the cavern walls, and down the precarious perch of junk she had been standing on, “I do not remember this place.  How far away are we from the front of the falls?”

Begglar entered the conversation, “Best forget about that, lass,” he huffed.  “There’ll be no goin’ back that way.”

“Why not?”

Laura’s neck was stiff and painful, but she was trying to follow the conversation, but could not keep up and was having difficulty turning her head much less standing on her feet.

“Because,” James said, “the cavern collapsed.  That way is blocked by tons of stone and dirt and water.  The Trathorn River must have fractured the rock bed at the top of the canyon under the weight of all this ice.  The pressure of the river flowed to the edge but had nowhere to go, but down.  We barely made it further into these caves before being buried alive.  We found a bit of light filtering in down one of the tunnels and found our way here.  This pile of rubbish and cars were in the back of the cave.  We found you both in this old car.”

Maeven’s hands went to her temples, her fingers pressing through her dark bangs pressing as she closed her eyes for a moment trying to find some sense in what she was being told, so find a sequence she was missing, “What do you mean?  Found me?  Wasn’t I with you when you carried me in?”

I gently touched Maeven’s shoulder, trying to comfort her, “We thought we’d lost you.  You were with us, and then you weren’t.”

Maeven’s eyes popped open, a tragic, stricken look came over her, as some terrible realization flooded her mind.  I moved forward, barely in time to catch her as she crumpled nearly collapsing.

A miserable, mournful cry of anguish escaped her lips, as she fell into my arms, and I held her there as she wept into my shoulder, shuttering with such terrible sobs of agony, of spirit and mind and grief.

“He’s dead,” she clenched her teeth, a cough of pain racking her body, threatening to darken over us.  “Nory, my babies.  They’re all dead,” she shuddered, and all I could do is hold her close and cry with her.

***

Below the junk pile, at the water’s edge, distorted images swirled amid the oily substance spreading outward from the floating, bobbing carcass of the shoat.  It’s glazed yellowed eyes, once bulging with the cranial pressures behind them, had sunken into its elongated skull.  Its porcine flesh had suppurated and split open with the explosion of gasses when it had struck the hard flat and jagged metal surfaces below, and the slick of those draining fluids, now occluded and clouded the bluish water with a smoky haze, birthed colored and moving images, with no clear definition except for smearing smudged edges.  The images, however, were beginning to clarify as they slid away from the oil slick and moved like watery projections across the pool’s rippling surface, swirling around the ghostly light beam that pierced the darkness of the cavern.  Buzzing blackness and amorphous shapes skirted the faded edge of the light beam, occupying the shadows.  These darted here and there between and around and through the coloring images, that were now beginning to take more shape and substance.  Lengthy shaped tubes articulated and formed appendages, moving alongside columnar swatches of color and form and shadow.  These resolved into further form taking definition until they were recognizable forms of people, seen as though they moved behind frosted and scored glass.  Occasionally a bright white point of dancing light danced over the head of these forms, and these illuminated ones seemed to glow with their own inner light source, taking further definition in form ahead of the other beings still swarmed in shadow.  The cave pool’s surface swam with similar images, swirling on odd planes, blending into and ghosting transparently over other images.  Where ever the tableau stretched into the darkness, if the collaged images bore a figure bearing the overhead flame, that area projected a rippling brightness onto the cavern ceiling and walls in twisting rings of light.  A rushing, boiling noise of multitudes speaking, voices blending, conversations cresting creating a din and growing crescendo in the cave, that pulled us away from our shared grief.  Distracting us from it for the moment.

“What is happening?” James asked, moving around the back of the light blue, rusted sedan, straining for a better look, as columns of light cast swirling, lighted projections on to the ceiling of the dark and blue-veined rock.

Nell answered, “The blood.”

Christie and Begglar stiffened and held Laura steady, moving in protectively to prevent yet another danger from threatening her.

I held Maeven close, but a free hand slipped down and found the hilt of the Honor Sword by my side.  Maeven still breathed heavily, unable to turn and see what was happening in the water below and beyond, unable to take in one more thing beyond the intensity of the grief crippling her now.

“Nellus?” Begglar spoke calmly but directly to his wife, beseeching her for further clarity.

“We need to get out of here, quickly,” she said.

She paused looking to each of us in the stunned silence and carefully chose her next words.

“Blood in the water of a Ghost Pool brings things…”

She needed to say no more.  Hard as it was to turn away, we gathered together and carefully began to ascend the junk pile, moving from buried hoods to dryer tops, to twisted cable stacks careful not to get our feet entangled in these nests of coils.  James offered to carry Laura on his back, but she shied away, instead preferring to allow Christie to assist her.  Maeven moved mechanically through the process, numbed by the urgency, almost despondent, but still moving.  Something terrible had reached into this world and shook her to the core.  When we were safely far enough away, I planned to see if she would help me understand what had happened, but now was not the time.

Less than twenty feet ahead of us, the junk pile detritus gave way to slate grey rock and blackened stone, the beam of light above flickering as the sound of thunder accompanied our ascent.

“What is the plan, Mr. O’Brian?” James asked as the light above flickered and pulsed above, coupled with a stream of water splashing downward trickling into the cavern.

“We climb into the light,” I responded, carefully not to lose my footing on those few remaining steps as my hands felt the cold stone, and I reached back, assisting Maeven with an outstretched arm as she stepped across a gap in the junk pile that yawned into a crevice of blackness below.

“Maeven took my offered hand, and I help her swing across the narrow opening, and she looked up, her face brushed with the silver light from above, tears still wet upon her cheeks.  We locked eyes for a moment, and she nodded as something unspoken passed between us.  My words spoken to James must’ve taken a different meaning and shape in Maeven’s hearing, for though she was barely able to the edges of her mouth seemed to smile, and her eyes shown with what seemed like gratitude as she looked up at me and then beyond me.

“Into the light,” I heard her whisper to herself and sigh as she passed by, and then ascend the last few feet of rock through the aperture back out onto the surface.

***

“The banshee was right,” Will muttered aloud where all could hear him.

Eyes turned to him and the woman frowned, “Whatever do you mean?”

“Torlah,” Will said, grimacing at the memory, “the girl who turned out to be a banshee.”

When he had the other’s attention he began in earnest.

“O’Brian’s been leading us right smack into trouble from the very first day.  Torlah said that he was gonna get us all killed, and so far, he almost has.  He’s full of crap.  If he is dead, then good riddance.  If not, then I say we ditch him and tell him he can go straight to…”

Matthew turned on him and shoved his shoulder so that it almost spun him around, “Shut up, you!  You’re not the one who gets to decide for the rest of us.  O’Brian risked his life for us out on that ice.”

Will growled, “If it wasn’t for O’Brian, none of us would’ve been out on the lake, in the first place!  There’d be nothing he’d have to save us from.  Those Sprites would’ve killed the Manticore and Maeven would not have been injured.  I’m telling you, just like Torlah told us.  You follow him, you die.”