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‘We will leave you here Almurta,’ said Leonie at the edge of the balcony jutting out from the House of Serpents. Her companions were already drifting silently back into the forest. A woman led Shadow and placed his bridle in Almurta’s hand. He hung back as if reluctant to join the crowd on the balcony.
‘The Feast of Serpents is about to commence,’ said Leonie. ‘You should hurry is you want a good viewing spot. I’ve heard it is well worth seeing.’
‘Why don’t you women stay then?’ asked Almurta.
Leonie shrugged. ‘We’re forest people, not party people,’ she said.
Almurta looked at the throng on the balcony and wondered if she could still remember how to be a party person. The flamboyant clothing of the party goers flashed in the sunlight as they gathered round a table laden with a sumptuous feast. Many had hung up their offerings of intricately decorated and inscribed prayer flags. Almurta’s hung there too, its glowing colours symbolising her prayer for healing. The image she had printed on it of a figure striding out joyfully seemed impossibly optimistic. Her journey across Lenore had been demanding and there had been times of deep self analysis. The Serpentine Road had extended her to the point of exhaustion. It had all been engrossing and she had learnt much but she was tired of travelling. Bone weary.
Before the women’s concert Almurta had spent days sitting with them at their camp beneath the trees. The gentle murmur of the voices had soothed her as the women spoke of their quests deep into the forest where they fought against ancient evils and dark forces. Although their battles were fierce and terrifying the women spoke of their victories with humility. Their failures they listed with honesty. The stories touched Almurta and resonated with her own. She felt a sense of belonging and her tiredness lifted.
The hubbub on the balcony called her back to the present. Snippets of clever repartee drifted across to her as more and more people joined the group. A sudden hush fell upon them as serpents slithered out of the forest and onto the banquet table. L’Enchanteur presided over the proceedings as the snakes ate and drank. ‘They are all great people,’ thought Almurta. ‘Gifted and talented every one of them. E is a remarkable woman. I’m just not sure I can keep up with them any more.’
As the snakes finished their meal and slipped back into the forest a sudden gust of wind swept across the balcony. Flags bumped against each other. The string supporting Almurta’s jerked and broke. The wind caught the cloth and lifted it above the trees. For a moment the light shone through the gauzy cloth and the figure upon it appeared to dance across the sky. As Almurta watched it hovered an instant and then was tossed higher and higher by the wind until it was no more than a smudge of colour. She glanced back at the forest to see Leonie disappearing among the trees.
‘Leonie,’ she called lightly as she tugged on Shadow’s bridle and ran after the woman. ‘Leonie can I come with you.’
The woman turned and smiled. ‘Of course,’ she said.
“Shhhh! Here they are!”
She walks through the door and sees us. I can almost see the wheels spinning as she tries to wrap her head around why the faces of her friends and family are here…grinning at her.
“Surprise!” The camera flashes. She blinks as though returning from a journey to the past.
“Oh, it’s a party…for me!” Yep, I think it has sunk in now. She hugs me tightly whispering in my ear, “Oh, honey. Thank you so much.” I take such delight watching her face as she makes her way around the room hugging and laughing with those healthy enough to make the trip. She is truly joyful and her heart is as full as mine today. My sister and I finally pulled it off. A fitting tribute to our mother who just turned 80 years old but looks, acts, and appears so much younger.
A shadow of disappointment begins to block the joy but I quickly brush it away before it can permeate the party. But before it recedes, I see in my mind’s eye the ecstatic look and tears of pure happiness on my mother’s face at seeing him here with us. Well, he’s not here and it was his choice and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. Being the middle child, the peacemaker, the healer, the emotional caretaker, the one who pulls everyone together takes a tremendous toll… when I’m unsuccessful. I feel like I’ve failed. I feel the disappointment. I feel the blame and the let down. I stomp my foot to banish those thoughts and turn to hug my step-father. “Good job! We did it! Thank you so much for the thieving, support, and keeping the secret!” I catch my daughter’s eye as she watches her grandmother, Mommo. She winks at me and smiles restoring my heart to its previous fullness and my humor.
I see people I haven’t since since I was a child. People tell me that they immediately recognize my sister. She is an older version of that beautiful child with the big violet blue eyes they knew. But I’m a different story. They don’t recognize me. For the first time I don’t hear it. I don’t hear, “Your sister is so beautiful and you’re not.”
This time I know I have beauty. If not on my face then in my heart. I have beauty in my soul. I have beauty in my words, in my intentions, in my love and appreciation for others, nature, and in the way I see the world. The greatest beauty I have is in my ability to forgive others for the pain I have suffered due to their actions.
At this moment I realize that mom didn’t mean to hurt me by not coming to my wedding. She was suffering a pain of her own. I forgive my brother for not coming to this surprise party and robbing mom of (most likely) this last chance to have all three of her children together for her birthday. I forgive my maternal grandmother for treating me different than my siblings and not gifting me with something precious. And I forgive myself for allowing myself to be hurt deeply by the actions of others and carrying that pain for so many years.
Oh, and I forgive my mother’s cousin for not relinquishing the portrait of her father…With the help of another cousin, a copy was delivered in time for the party. My mother now has a large portrait of her father and I get to see what my maternal grandfather looks like. I see where my brother gets his dimples…I’m not sure where he gets his anger.
Drambuie and I continued our way down the Serpentine Road; a road of great beauty made of greenish-brown stone. It was the kind of stone that one would find in the entry way of a great estate. I suddenly noticed the lack of sounds made by Drambuie’s hooves. Feeling the need to share my unrestricted heart, I leaned forward wrapping my arms around his neck in a hug and squeezed. My eyes drifted downward to see socks covering his hooves; the kind of socks I’ve been known to purchase at “The World’s Softest Socks.” All four of Drambuie’s socks were embroidered with people butts and stitched across the top were the words “Civilized My Ass!”
“Oh, Drambuie…I adore the socks! I didn’t even know when you put those on, you dear sneaky donkey.”
“Why would you? You were floating out there in lala land. I could have played the role of a serpentine prankster and you would never have noticed, you were so far out there. Have a good time?”
“No. It was a journey through the heart to a past that was painful.”
“You humans are too stupid to live sometimes! Why would you deliberately cause yourself pain and suffering?”
“It is how we learn our lessons and helps us to let go of what pains us so that we can move forward in our growth.”
“So let me see if I have this right. You have an experience that hurts you deeply. You carry it in your heart until later; decide to check out on the first flashback to lala land missing some of the most beautiful scenery you will ever see while on the trip of a lifetime just so you can remember how painful the past is so you can let it go and grow and move forward another painful inch in your idotic life? And it was your decision to hold on to this crap in the first place? Well, here’s what I think about that!” Drambuie let loose with the longest stinkiest donkey fart. “I ate something that made my stomach hurt, processed it, and let it go! Get it, crap for brains?”
“You are such an ass. Just shut up! Shut both ends and don’t make a sound until we arrive at the House of Serpents!” I scream at Drambuie not sure why I was so angry. “Being human is much more complicated than being an ass, road apples for brains!” And with that I let go with my own gaseous seranade.
The most infectious laughter came from the tree we were passing. I looked into the boughs above us and saw this woman of undeterminable age with rosy cheeks, a broad smile, dimple in her chin, and bare feet mere inches from the top of my head. I don’t know how I could have missed her.
“My, what a darling pair you are! Have you been married for long?” she giggles.
“Very funny,” I retort. “It’s a little difficult returning from an incredibly deep journey through the heart to an ass such as this.”
“Yes, I hear that a lot on this road.”
“Hey, woman!” Drambuie hollars. “What’s with the bare feet? I’d be glad to give up my socks.” He stands on his hind quarters, propping his front legs on the bough next to her.
“Aaaaah! Ouch!” I slide right off on to my tailbone. I actually keep sliding on the slick serpintine stone while spinning on my butt! Drambuie is laughing so hard he is unable to breathe. “Hee snort haw! Hee snort haw!” The woman in the tree joins him in his melodious, tinkling giggle. She laughs so hard, she falls over on Drambuie’s head and slides down his back sliding on the serpentine stone spinning on her butt.
“YOU SUCK, YOU ASS!” I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry as I am still spinning faster than a rap star on a well-worn piece of cardboard. Now I have a partner in our unrehearsed, unchoreographed spins.
When Drambuie catches his breath, he chokes out, “You fell off your ass onto your ass!” I don’t know, there was something that pulled a ripchord of tension that I had been holding onto and I melted into a puddle of jovialty that could no longer be denied. I, too, was laughing and snorting which set Drambuie off again causing him to lose his balance and slide on his hind quarters down the road in the opposite direction.
The woman from the tree screeched “Your ass fell on his ass!” and I had tears rolling down mycheeks from this latest development. “Hee snort haw! Fart! Hee snort haw!” There was just no denying…we all were completely out of control. We simply couldn’t gain control of ourselves. When one of us caught a breath and seemed to be able to stand, the other would continue in gales of contagious laughter that would spread to the others.
“Sally met Drambuie in the alley. She hopped upon that ass. They made the journey through her heart til she fell of her ass, alas, the lass, was spinning on the stone away from home on her own…asssssssssss.” Drambuie sang in his best imitation of an Irish tenor snake.
“Ple- ple- please make him stop,” I begged through my hilarity. “I’m hurrrting. I’m gonna pee. I can’t breathe. Please.”
After awhile, the three of us were splayed on the Serpentine Road looking like roadkill. No one dared look at another. We simply focused on breathing. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
The woman from the tree was the first to revive herself. She stood up, ran her hand through her hair and surveyed the damage. I was face down on the serpentine stone. My chin laid in a puddle of drool as I was too weak to swallow my own saliva. A short distance from us, Drambuie was laid out like a stuffed toy dropped and forgotten then stepped on.
The woman helped me to my feet. She told me the seat of my pants were as shiney as the stone of the road. Together we walked over to Drambuie and tried to help him to his feet. He was too heavy for one to take each end so we both pulled this head and front up, then the back. As we pulled up the back of his body, his front feet slid apart and the front slid back down to the road. The opposite occurred when we returned to the front of his body. I’m sure we would look like a cartoon to anyone watching.
“I’ll take care of this,” the woman from the tree said. She took a large safety pin from her pocket and stabbed Drambuie right in the butt. “What the…” he bellowed as he jumped to all fours.
“Time to get on your way, my four legged friend. I am so very glad that we were able to have such a riotous time together. Thank you. Thank you so much!” She tucked her pin back into her pocket and climbed back up the tree.
Drambuie headed back up the road to get me. I climed on and shook my head. “What the hell happened?” Drambuie demanded to know as we traveled back towards the tree and the woman.
I smiled knowingly. “That, my friend, was known as laughter therapy. It is one of the most healthy activities known to woman and beast.”
“Yeah, right. Laughter therapy. Do you have to go to school for that?”
“No. I was trained in a single afternoon.” I quipped.
As we passed under the woman in the tree, I noticed with great interest that her feet were no longer bare. She had Drambuie’s socks on her feet…well, two of the socks anyway. I leaned to the left until I could see Drambuie’s feet. He still had socks on.
Each sock was similar yet different. The words stictched on the socks were simple and stitched only around the top.
“LAUGH YOUR ASS OFF!”
“LAUGHTER HEALS”
“LAUGH TIL YOU SPIN ON YOUR ASS”
“Get off your ass and LAUGH!!”
Serpentine Road Prayer
As you travel this road
May your worries be shed
And your creative muse
Take its place in their stead.
she of the serpents stays among the trees curled in the moss
unwilling to leave
watched anxiously from afar
by her wayward donkey
and careful eyes of her human companions (human? if a horned woman is thus so)
who know so little of her (although the horned woman knows more but says little)
their beloved buried in sifted bone too deep to reach
only faith to push them forward
she has changed
her garments shredded as a snake would shed its skin
the neat blouse in tatters the skirt & petticoat flutters in petals
no boots but some where she has acquired thin slippers of skin
(do not look too closely)
she will rise and return to the place of her dance
followed by her donkey unwillingly but pulled by an invisible cord
she sifts through dust to find
a snake skin of red in the fading sun
which she lifts in two hands for it is long so long to be a garment of her own
and on it inscribed in ancient language the flick of a tongue a serpent’s grace
she hangs it in the place of the prayer flags
for it is a prayer flag of her body
the wind takes it the sun for a moment
blazes through it blood red and the writing writhes in silver for an instant
if one is watching closely
Almurta approached the House of Serpents on foot. Beside her walked Leonie, the woman who had come to her aid at the cave of the undead. Around them strode other women of her tribe. All were bare breasted and many had one or both breasts removed. They wore their scars with impunity. ‘We are survivors,’ they said. Behind them trailed the donkey pack, Shadow among them. He seemed happy to be with others of his kind and a lopsided donkey grin was slathered all over his face.
The music Almurta had heard the women playing the night before still echoed in her mind. Just after sunset the women had taken her to a natural amphitheatre deep in the forest. Cushions and rugs were strewn over a section of the embankment. Many of the women carried music instruments and took positions to the front of the seating area. Almurta took her place with the women towards the rear who reclined back on the cushions and soft grassy slopes.
On the far side of the amphitheatre a white water river cascaded down in a rush of sound. As darkness fell a woman plucked her guitar strings. One by one other instruments joined in until the space was filled with music that meshed and merged with the sound of falling water. Horns gave forth plaintive wails that were answered by long chords from electronic organs. The wafting notes of a flute seemed to dance and skip across the top of the wall of sound.
Far above stars glittered like ice crystals in the velvet black sky. The night was warm and Almurta felt cocooned within the soundscape. As the music soared then fell to hush then soared again she was swept up by it and carried to a place beyond words, beyond thought. The sounds seemed to flow into her body and reach down into her to touch her being on a cellular level revitalizing her and washing away accumulated stresses. For an unaccountable length of time she became pure sound.
After midnight the moon rose. The women ceased their playing and returned to their camp. Almurta fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. She woke before dawn to the gentle sound of rain dripping melodically down the sides of her canvas tent. It seemed the perfect ending to a magical night.
Now as the women walked the world had a washed clean look, a sparkling freshness. Some way in front of them a building seemed to shimmer in the light as if it was partly constructed from air. ‘The House of Serpents,’ said Leonie. ‘You will be required to make an offering before you can be admitted.’
‘Another one!’ Almurta muttered to herself. ‘I’m running out of ideas.’ Leonie ignored her and led the way through a series of white stone archways to an open balcony. Thousands of silvery snake skins hung across the intervening spaces rustling faintly in the breeze. The shed skins were almost translucent and tissue paper thin. They had an opalescent sheen that shimmered in the light. Almurta was transfixed by them.
‘I feel I have shed a layer of skin since I came to Lemuria,’ she thought. ‘It is as if I have been stripped of some outer membrane that I had developed in order to cope with the demands of life in the world beyond these shores; that world which places so much emphasis on outer successes while neglecting to nurture the inner being. The experiences I’ve had since coming here have stripped much of that outer skin from me. I feel less worldly now yet more open to life.’
A tall elegant woman came toward her. ‘Welcome to the House of Serpents,’ she said in an imperious tone. ‘What offering do you make?’
‘I offer you layer of skin,’ said Almurta without hesitation.
“You feel it, too?” Drambuie asks. “Yeah, I do,” I reply with some sadness. It is more than a tug of the heartstrings. I felt hollow like an eagle bone whistle. And I had this horribly bitter taste in my mouth.
Drambuie and I both fall into silence as we follow the path to the Serpentine Road. Drambuie’s hooves clip clopping on the well traveled surface and the motion of riding upon his back lulls me into an alternate state. I feel the need to “unravel my heart” to help ease the ache.
While Drambuie and I physically travel away from the Valley of the Bones, my soul returns to a pile of bones that spell out my name in the heart of the valley. I kneel nearby and hear the whispers of women who call me by name; women of my blood who came before me. There are two in particular that are louder than the others and I am startled when I realize I recognize my maternal and paternal grandmothers.
Sarah Julie Elizabeth Gregg was born in West Virginia in 1884. Sometime between the ages of 18 and 24, my paternal grandmother saw a newspaper ad “young women 18 to 30 years of age, of good character, attractive and intelligent, as waitresses in Harvey Eating Houses on the Santa Fe Railroad in the West.” My grandmother became a Harvey Girl. Harvey Girls were wholesome, moral girls hired by Fred Harvey to provide food to railway passengers from the many resteraunts built along the Santa Fe railway line. These women braved the uncivilized west and its perils in exchange for adventure, $17.50 per month, room and board, and generous tips. The only catch was they had to sign contracts for six, nine, or twelve months promising they would not marry. If they did, half of the salary they received to day would be returned.
It is said that over 100,000 women became Harvey Girls over the years. These women changed the history of the west as over 20,000 of them eventually married their regular customers who were cowboys, bankers, ranchers, railmen, etc.
In a time when women stayed home until married, my grandmother left the proper life of an eastern woman and became a Harvey Girl. I don’t know the details, but she apparently chose New Mexico as her station; possibly because of her Native American cousins, the Rainwaters. Regardless, she fulfilled her contract and married my grandfather in 1909.
Grandma Sally had three daughters before my grandfather left. She was 41 when my father was born after my grandfather paid her a visit. At the time of my birth, Grandma Sally was 72. I remember her as a strict, religious woman who ate vegetarian chicken from a can and hand made beautiful quilts. She claimed to have hearing problems, but seemed to have no problems hearing all the naughty things her grandchildren whispered. I guess her hearing was selective or would come and go…
I liked to hang out with Grandma Sally even though summers meant going to bible school. She had a piano (which I now have and found out she traded for my father’s trumpet) and I got to help her quilt. She taught me to crochet and knit. I became very interested in reading the bible and religion. She would answer some of my religious questions while ignoring others.
Grandma Sally swore man would not walk on the moon in her lifetime as it was just so ungodly. She passed away three days before Neil Armstrong took his giant step for mankind. In the weeks prior to her passing, my aunt said Grandma Sally was completely deaf. However, she could hear angels singing and told my aunt of the sweet songs being sung to her. I’m glad that heaven opened those pearly gates and those deaf ears to her before her passing so she wasn’t afraid.
Thelma Louise Keith [?] Hill [?] Webster was my maternal grandmother, but we called her Dima. Dima was a beautiful, elegant woman who worked almost all of her life on construction sites. Dima had two daughters and was widowed twice by the time she was 25. Her father, brother, sister, and both husbands lived and worked in a logging/lumber community called Somoa in Northern California near the Oregon border.
When Dima was married to Ellwood Hill, my grandfather, she had uterine cancer. My mother was born two months early weighing just over two pounds. By the day after my mother was born, Dima’s blood had seeped through the mattress and pooled under the bed. Mom was put in a dresser drawer with a warm brick and Dima was put on a train to San Francisco to the hospital.
My mother is a survivor and that will to live started at birth. She and my grandmother were reunited and life went smoothly until my mother was three and her father died of tuberculosis. At this point in my family’s history, it gets a little fuzzy. For some reason, my grandfather’s family, the Hills, tried to take my mother away from my grandmother. That wasn’t going to happen. They left Eureka.
Again, the history fades and the only facts that are clear are that Dima marries a man from a town near Sacramento. He is a man with secrets and schemes. They move, possibly to hide from the law, into a chicken coop. With the help of his sister, Dima, my mother and her older sister get away from this man, Mick, and begin anew.
Dima goes to work for a construction company. Through the years, her oldest daughter gets married young and leaves. She leaves my mother with other people depending on the where the job takes her. World War II comes and they end up in San Francisco. It was a frightening time for women who are unprotected. One night on a dark street, a man steps in front of the car and they run over him. They are too afraid to stop.
I have happy memories of my grandmother and the grandfather I remember, Pops who eventually adopted my mother when she was in her forties. We would visit them at various construction jobs. My sister and I would play in Dima’s jewelry box.
Things changed somehow when my parents divorced. The change was subtle and I didn’t always notice. I do recall, though, my older sister and younger brother receiving birthday cards while I did not. I got married and my father didn’t come to my wedding. I got divorced.
I met and fell in love with Scott. We moved in together and my mother told me, “why buy the cow when you get the milk free.” Several months later I called Mom and said, “Mom, he’s buying the cow!” At a visit with my mom and grandmother, I knew something was up. I could feel something coming. My grandmother asked me who was going to give me away at the wedding. I said my dad was. My grandmother turned real cold towards me after that. Shortly after that, I heard through my sister that Mom wouldn’t be coming to my wedding.
My sister, grandmother and I went out for drinks a few months later. Dima bragged to other people about how beautiful her granddaughter was and introduced my sister. She spoke to me very little despite my attempts to engage her.
When I returned from my honeymoon in Bora Bora, I went to visit Dima. I wasn’t quite in a place or frame of mind where I could see Mom yet. I told Dima about Bora Bora and brought her a present. I then asked her if I could have a tea cup or handkerchief; something that I could have and say, “My grandmother gave me this.” She told me no. It was devastating. I knew that she had given my brother and sister several things already. I had no idea what I ever did to her to make her so hurtful towards me. Maybe it was the simple fact that I was my daddy’s girl and she hated my father.
My grandmother had a stroke during a time that my mother and I hadn’t quite worked things out after I got married. Mom called and told me Dima had a stroke but not to come down. She wouldn’t know me. I went out into the back yard and had a serious talk with Dima. Of course, I did all the talking just like I would have if I had gone to see her. I told her how hurt I was by her the things she said, her absence at my wedding, her refusal to give me a tidbit of hers. I let it all out. She died soon afterward.
It was her death that began the healing between my mother and I. Mom wanted me to be with her the next day when she drove to the place my grandmother would be remembered and buried. Although Mom was heartbroken, it was a day unlike any other I had ever had with her. We talked about many spiritual things, feelings, and life though stayed far away from the wedding.
I guess Dima thought she got the best of things by refusing to give me anything of hers. But I came out ahead. It was because of her that I began to get my mother back.
The love I was feeling for my mother snapped me back into my body. I realized how difficult her life was as a child spending periods of time without her mother. Her life was difficult later on when she and my father developed their feud and mutual desire to make each others’ lives miserable in every way possible. But now I had the relationship with Mom I had always dreamed of having and my heart was so full of love.
I had unraveled my heart and it no longer ached. I had picked through the last of the bones that needed my attention. The bitter taste in my mouth was gone and I thought about all I had learned about healing…that bitter tasting foods were very good for one’s digestion…
“Ya ready now, my gal Sal?” I heard as donkey lips nuzzled my lower leg. “I am, my ham Dram.” I replied wrapping my arms around Drambuie’s neck. “Then let’s make like a bananna and split!”
“Let’s make like a tree and leave!”
“Let’s blow this popcicle stand!”
With a little buck, a donkey fart, and a “yahoo!” we got stepped on the Serpentine Road. I gagged…got back on the saddle, rode down the road with a fist in the air, an unraveled heart, and a bitter free being.
Shadow had been his most taciturn self all day. Almurta kept trying to draw him into conversation but he only grunted in reply. For some hours she had been watching a storm draw ever closer. ‘I think we should stop,’ she kept saying. Almost pleading really. The clouds broiling in from the horizon were a dark greenish grey. Lightening bolts pierced the gloom and the sound of thunder rolled almost continuously. Shadow trotted on and on towards it. His ears were flattened back against his head and his neck was arched in stubborn defiance to Almurta’s urging. As they journeyed they passed several brightly lit Inns. The sound of hearty laughter and voices raised in song drifted to them from open doorways. ‘Look Shadow,’ Almurta would say as he trotted past them. ‘We could stay there until the storm blows out.’ The animal appeared not to hear her.
Signs of habitation were becoming further and further apart as the storm advanced towards them. The Serpentine Road wound this way and that through dense thickets of trees until a broad curve bought the pair out onto an exposed stretch of road that snaked around cliff tops. In other circumstances the view would have been breath taking. Glossy black rocks fell away steeply to the sea. Waves crashed at their base sending up clouds of salt spray. The wind picked up the spray and hurled it at Almurta making her eyes sting. Huge cloud banks towered up over a churning leaden grey sea were illuminated every few seconds by flashes of sheet lightening. Almurta clung onto Shadow’s bridle and clamped her legs firmly against his flanks. ‘We should turn back,’ she yelled to the donkey but her words were whipped away by the wind and the animal charged on.
As they neared the cliff tops the wind increased in ferocity. It shrieked as the full intensity of the storm was suddenly upon them. Pieces of debris went flying past. Instinctively Almurta raised one arm across her face and shut her eyes. The shrieking increased and she felt the brush of wings across her arm. Talons raked across her flesh. She opened her eyes and stared into a pair of wild dark eyes in a contorted female face. Below the face was the body of a bird. The creature gave a harsh cry of rage. Black wings beat the air and it flew off to join others of its kind sweeping in from the sea.
‘What are they?’ Almurta’s heart pounded.
‘Harpies,’ said Shadow. ‘Ancient harbingers of the storm. We are deep in Lemuria now and are travelling through mythic territory. We must take shelter from this storm.’
‘I’ve been saying that,’ said Almurta but the animal ignored her. He increased his pace and galloped in an ungainly way towards the dark wooded hills that lay just inland from their present position. Lightening rent the sky then a clap of thunder boomed so loudly Almurta felt her ear drums might burst. Heavy drenching rain commenced and visibility was reduced to a few metres. Almurta leant close over Shadow’s back praying they would find shelter soon. The rain was icy and she began to shiver uncontrollably.
Just when she thought she could hang on no more Shadow entered a dimly lit cavern. The rain ceased, the wind dropped away and for the first time that day Almurta felt safe. She slipped from Shadow’s back and hunted through the saddle bags for a towel and dry clothing. The wound inflicted by the harpy stung with a vicious stabbing pain. “Ow, that hurts,” Almurta said without realising she had spoken aloud.
‘Does it?’ said Shadow with sudden interest. ‘That’s not a good a sign. I wonder just what kind of cave we have found.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Those kind of wounds only hurt when there is evil around. It means we are danger.’ Just as Shadow spoke the cavern was illuminated by lightening. The walls of their shelter were exposed. Strange beings huddled together in the dim recesses stared out at them with dead eyes.
‘Just as I suspected. Zombies,’ said Shadow. ‘The undead. The heat of our bodies will invigorate them. You must be on your guard Almurta. They will try to steal your life energy. Don’t let them touch you.’
Almurta backed up against the animal. With each flash of lightening she was able to discern more of their strange companions. The bodies were swathed in grey garments that hung about them like fog so that their forms remained indistinct. Long thin necks supported ghoulish heads where eyes in sunken sockets glowered. With each burst of lightening they appeared to have inched closer.
‘They’re waking up,’ Shadow said, somewhat unnecessarily Almurta thought. He seemed to be getting perverse pleasure out of the experience. She could not shake the feeling that he had bought her here on purpose just to see what she would do. The shivering induced by the rain gave way to a shivering induced by fear. The gaunt faces surrounding her had a gothic quality that seemed to paralyse her thoughts. The storm outside raged unabated. The fear she felt was primal and beyond the reach of her conscious mind.
‘This is what happens when you travel with your Shadow,’ the donkey said, his voice sombre. ‘You get to see your own dark side. Your fears and weaknesses.’
‘Thanks a lot,’ said Almurta. ‘I knew you were on a mission today. So now what do you expect me to do? These creatures are creeping up on us really fast.’ The wound on her arm throbbed and she gave a small scream of fear as lightening revealed a zombie a few metres away. It would be upon her in minutes.
‘What you do is entirely up to you,’ said Shadow. ‘You can huddle in fear and let the creatures overtake you or you can find something inside yourself that will lead you to safety.’
Suddenly Almurta was angry. She was angry with the donkey for leading her into danger, angry with the zombies themselves for their fearful attributes and angry with something far beyond the immediate situation. It was as if all the societal pressure she felt to be nice, to accommodate the unpleasant behaviours of others, to always, like so many women, apologise even when she knew she’d done nothing wrong, boiled up into a rage of colossal proportions. ‘I’m not going to put up with all this freaking rubbish any longer,’ she shouted. Her voice reverberated off the cavern walls and boomed across the space. The next bolt of lightening revealed that the creatures had fallen back slightly. Almurta took advantage of the momentary respite. She reached into the saddle bag and grabbed the first thing that came to hand. A long sleeved T shirt. She twisted the garment into a rope like shape and then knotted the ends of sleeves into a large ball. Holding it with both hands she swung it wildly in front of her as she backed towards the cavern entrance. It wasn’t much of a weapon but it would hold the creatures at bay.
‘I’m leaving,’ she yelled at Shadow. ‘I really don’t care what you do you. I’m getting out of here.’ The anger surged through her body giving her an adrenaline rush of energy. She was wild with it.
Shadow gave a loud hee-haw. ‘Good for you,’ he brayed. ‘That’s exactly what I’d hoped you do. Jump on my back and I’ll take you to safety.’
‘You said that before and you carried me here. I think I’d be better off alone.’
‘He won’t betray you again,’ said a voice from the entrance. ‘You have passed the test.’
Almurta glanced behind her. A strapping bare chested woman carrying a burning torch stood silhouetted in the entrance. The light caused the zombies to fall back even further. ‘Come,’ she said. ‘I am one of the guardians of the Serpentine Road. I will take you to our camp where you can wait out the storm in safety. Shadow will follow behind you.’
Almurta finds her wild side
I’m amazed and have been so for at least a day. I’ve lost track of time. I do know that I have spent at least one night here so, yes. I’ve been amazed for a day on several levels. First, the ease to which I’ve consented to this. Second, my last conversation with le Enchanteur. It continues to haunt my imagination. From ear to ear it reverberates, distracting my attention from the disappearing greenery that is slowly transforming to arid dusty pathway. Many things amazed me as a child, but fewer and fewer things have managed to do so as an adult.
“We were pleased to learn you were in agreement with the conditions of our contract. Captain Rollins informed me that you had no questions about what is required of you?”
Before I knew it I’d taken a swig. le Enchanteur’s eyes didn’t flinch from mine. That bothered me more than anything. I guess the Captain must have informed le Enchanteur that Jorole was alcoholic. Great. I was having a bizarro world, Rod Sterling moment. A realization that required, well, another swig. My role may required lucidity that only single malt could support.
“Listen. You didn’t request my services because you heard I can ask a good question or two”.
I paused, took a deep breath and kept eye contact. Talked with my hands.
“I heard everything correct the first time. Simple enough. It will be handled”.
I was walking a narrow, tight line and I knew it.
“Now, if you will give me the upfront monies as agreed upon…”
A gamble there.
“…Ill be on my way.”
The bottle rose to my lips as easy as the breeze is flowing through the nearby trees. My cahonies were hanging a little lower now and I felt a slight Eastwood squint in my eyes, dead on his. I felt like the man I’d always wanted to be. The Richard that enters a bar and steps out like Clark Kent from telephone booths from long ago. No “S” on my chest, just an “R”, or “L” for Laphroaig.
“As agreed upon, Jorole, here is the Oanga Bag. Prepared, of course to your specifications to assist you on the journey.”
I took swig, then another to mask surprise.
At that point I wasn’t liking the extra emphasis le Enchanteur was placing on my name….crap. I mean the old mans name. It’s like an inside joke that he knows, that I know, that he knows sort of thing. Patience, I told myself. Every agreement or contract I’ve been aware of has money attached to it. Patience.
“Yes, of course. I was testing you. Just making sure you are who you said you were. Ill take that bag now if you don’t mind. I have to get started.”
I took the Oanga bag from le Enchanteur. It was light and heavy at the same time, an evaluation I attributed more to my high than any real physical characteristics of the bag. It was made of leather, painted with some dye that seemed to blend in with the scenery with beads running along its strap. I instinctively slid what was left of the Laphroaig into the bag.
le Enchanteur smiled, his eyes never leaving mine. Yep, that bothered me. I no longer felt like the man with an “R” on his chest. I was feeling more like the man sitting on the floor next to an empty bottle in a dark living room as Kim loaded her bags in the car and pulled out of the driveway for the last time. See, she handled the miscarriages much better than I did.
“The map was made to your specifications. Since you have no questions, there’s no need to inform you of the dangers that may present themselves to you. I trust that you will deal with them, discretely. You must remain undetected. We have gone to great lengths to, shall we say, cover your arrival here. I must inform you that the Council was not unanimous in its decision to address Lemaure’s precarious situation with your assistance”.
Le Enchanteur paused for a second then, eyeing the sky for clouds that didn’t exist.
His next words are the ones haunting me now, reverberating:
“A wise woman once said my friend, ‘When someone shows you who they are….believe them’.
I shall be going, Jarole. We shall meet again, at the agreed upon location at the agreed upon hour. Farewell”.
I didn’t extend my hand because it was behind my back, shaking. He didn’t extend his and I’m glad, insulted a bit, but glad.
That was yesterday. I still can’t connect the dots of his farewell speech. My cape is gone, cahonies regular and Kim is on my mind, distracting me from any pertinent information that he was trying to give me. I reach into the bag, the first time since yesterday. The thought of Kim usually has this effect, a reaching effect for self medication. I pull out the bottle and I’m amazed once again, it’s full.
How the hell is this bottle full?
Some passengers of the SS Vulcania have responded to the call of the piper and they are travelling overland, on Donkeys. Each night at twelve midnight donkeys wait in the stable behind the Swan and Rose Inn, ready to take newcomers on the increasingly, well todden road most travelled.To Travel With A Donkey is to accept the challenge and embark on a fantastical journey that will irrevocably change you. This is the chance to work with Enchanteur and drink magical mead from the cauldron of creativity
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