Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2006-08-28 05:24 pm
said_scarlett) wrote2006-08-28 05:24 pm
The Island of Kulshedra
Okay, so. As some of you know, I love pulp novels. Love them, love them, love them. Cheesy and over-the-top as they are, I love them. I tried to do a take-off of them back in the Harry Potter fandom, but all of like... one person got what I was going for. So I gave up the series. But now I'm trying again, with FMA. This is going to be a series.
Much, much thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
zinjadu and redrose999 for the suggestions, critique and help on this fic. Anyway, enjoy!
Title: The Island of Kulshedra
Author:theladyfeylene
Fandom: FMA
Pairing: N/A - Hohenheim Centric.
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Word Count: 3422
Spoilers: Full series spoilers
Summary: Hohenheim had only wanted a small trip to the Eastern Islands, to put some distance between himself and problems at home. But a sudden storm plunges him into a nightmare the likes of which the alchemist had never imagined...
It was over a century ago that I first came to the island of Kulshedra. I was a much younger man in those days, and possessed with a ravenous thirst for adventure. I had a young man’s desire to see the world and all its wonders. I was sound of mind and fit of body, and in those days by physical form wasn’t prone to the rot of the soul.
I must confess that it was by accident that I came to those accursed islands. I was seeking excuses to leave my home more often and for longer periods of time. My wife was growing increasingly difficult to deal with, prone to tempers and fits of hysterics. I hardly knew my son any longer, and our relationship was strained to the point of breaking. And so I threw myself into research and studying abroad, traveling the continent to expand my knowledge and to save my sanity.
In the late 1700s, I booked passage on a trading vessel that was headed to the Eastern Islands. A sea voyage, I felt, was just the cure for a crumbling family life. The open sea, the promise of adventure in a foreign land, and time away from the stifling confines of home would do me good. I had yet to travel far by sea, and I was quite looking forward to spending time on the Eastern Islands. It was reported to be a land rich with culture and scientific study, as well as more fanciful things.
The voyage began pleasantly, with a strong wind from the west and clear weather ahead of us. I quickly made a friend of the captain, a grizzled seaman by the name of Smythe. He was from down Queensport way, and I had studied with a cousin of his ten years back. I am not ashamed to say that my connections to the captain’s family afforded me clean quarters and the more fresh of the rations.
I dined with Captain Smythe often, and sat spellbound to his tales of sea travel. He spoke of great serpentine creatures out in the deepest parts of the sea, where no land met the eye. Sometime, he claimed, you could see the coils of their body moving though the water on moonless nights. They sank ships, squeezing hulls in the manner of a snake squeezing its prey. Few men had seen them from anything but a distance and lived. He spoke also of the Ocean Lights, colours in the sky up north where the ice never melted. Brilliant flashes of green and blue in crystalline hue that spread across the sky like the wings of a mystical bird.
I could listen to him speak for hours. This was the life I craved, deep in the recesses of my soul. But instead I was chained to a childhood sweetheart I had fallen out of love with long ago and a child I had never wanted. I clung to these vicarious feats of heroism like a starving man. I stood at the railing of the deck, my eyes cast out to the sea in hopes of catching sight of one of the great sea serpents.
On the second week of our voyage, as I sat at the captain’s desk penning a letter to my son - he had some of the lust for travel and excitement that I myself had, after all - there rose up a great storm. I ran to the deck, out of some morbid instinct. Never had I witnessed an act of nature so violent or terrible. Lightening split the sky like a knife, turning the world into a caricature made of white ice. Before my very eyes the waves rose to mountainous heights, capped with angry foam. The trading vessel shuddered and all around me sailors yelled and ran along the wet deck. I could feel the heavy layer of fear that had us in its grasp and it struck me to the core. Still clutched in my hand was the half-written letter to my son, and as I watched the lightning-lit waves crash and pound around the ship I realized there was a strong chance that I would never see Christoph again.
That was the last thought I had before a great wave crashed over the ship. I heard the sickening crack of splitting timber and then nothing.
***
The first thing that I can recall was the steady beat of sun on my face. My memories were hazy, unclear. There was a fierce pounding in my head and a bright light behind my eyes. And above all that, I was moving.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. Pain stabbed through my vision and when it faded I was laying beneath the great blue whelk itself. I struggled to sit up and found that I was at sea still, stretched across a substantial piece of driftwood. All around me were broken pieces of the trading vessel, floating in a now-calm sea. I cast my eyes across the gentle waves, searching for fellow survivors. I saw none.
But more pressing and frightening to me was the lack of land on the horizon. I was adrift in the open sea with only the clothes on my back and the half-letter to Christoph still clutched in my hand. My options were limited, but I would utilize all of them.
Stretching my aching body, joints stiff from the awkward position in which I was laying and the salt water that had seeped into my bones, I began to steer my impromptu vessel towards other pieces of debris. It was a long and arduous task but I gathered together enough wood to fashion a crude boat of my own. Weak and tired as I was, the transmutation was far from perfect but it would serve.
Among the wreckage I found but one barrel of rations, and all but the soda crackers were spoiled beyond eating. I could purify the sea water with my alchemy, but I only had so much strength left. I managed a few sips of water before lapsing into unconsciousness once more.
The next few days were a blur. I went from waking to sleeping without much change between the two. I drank and ate when I could call up the strength, and scanned the horizon for land. But no land could be seen, and I began to despair. I, who had cheated death already, now stared it down on the open sea.
I thought for certain my time had come when I glimpsed a strange apparition out in the distance. The sunlight beat down upon the cerulean surface of the sea, hurting my eyes with its brightness. But there, near the horizon line, was something in the water. A strange black rise, moving through the waves. Squinting, I tried to make out details.
I drew back in horror when my eyes finally focused. Out beyond my small craft, out where the waves met the sky, there moved through the ocean a great beast the likes of which I’d never seen. Black and scaled, it’s looped coils gleamed in the burning sun. It was one of the sea serpents, the crusher of boats. I could only pray that my small vessel would not attract it’s attention.
I watched in rapt horror as the creature glided through the waves. Suddenly, without warning, it twisted. It leapt out of the sea like a dolphin, its great mass sending waves that rocked my boat even from such a distance. It twisted at the height of its arc and I fell back at the sight of its serpentine head, its wicked teeth visible even from so far. And then it plunged back into the depths, and the sea went silent once more.
***
Eventually, dehydrated and weakened, I spotted land. In the distance, a smudge against the sky, was an island. I nearly thanked a god I didn’t believe in for this small blessing. Despite my lack of strength, I steered my small boat towards the island, using the last of my waning strength to strengthen the waves and push me closer to my newly found destination.
I was unconscious when I hit the island, the jolt of meeting land shaking me out of my stupor. I flung myself from the boat and fell upon the sand, thankful to be on land once more. Perhaps I would live through the ordeal after all!
I needed to find shelter and, if possible, civilization. I knew I hadn’t come to the Eastern Islands. By the position of the sun and the stars I could tell we had been blown off course drastically. I had no way of knowing where I had washed up, all the sea charts were long gone.
The island itself was paradisiacal, though I could hardly appreciate it. White sand beaches led to dense forests of an almost tropical nature. I ploughed inland, without even the strength to transmute a knife. The first stream I came to I fell upon, lapping at the fresh water like some raving beast. I was more beast than man at that point, starving and thirsty and half-mad from the sun. The water was like ambrosia. I slept by the stream, sated and hydrated, and woke feeling more like a human being.
Once I had drank my fill once more, I set about following the stream to it’s origins. My travels took me to a large pond at the base of a striking waterfall. Gladly I stripped off my tattered clothing and bathed, washing away the salt and sand and grime of my trials upon the sea.
Floating in the clear water, I came back to myself some. I could now appreciate the place I had found myself. It looked to me like something out of a novel, all blue water and green trees and vibrant flowers.
Once I had soaked to my satisfaction, I washed my clothing and mended it as best as I could with alchemy. It was growing dark, and I knew I needed to procure shelter for myself. It was an easy enough thing to fashion a shallow cave out of the rock beside the waterfall, and far safer than risking upsetting some wild animal in its own cave. I lit a small fire and in the cozy warmth of my makeshift cave, I continued my letter to my son.
***
I don’t know what it time it was, but the moon was well risen when I was awoken from my light slumber by the sound of voices in the jungle. I yawned and stretched and moved to the mouth of my cave, peering into the darkness. There, among the trees, were the lights of torches. I strained to make out the voices but all I could hear was gibberish - either the distance was too great or the bearers of the lights were speaking a language I didn’t know.
Cautious, I crept out of the shelter of the cave and made my way into the jungle. The voices grew clearer and I was certain now that these natives - if they were indeed natives - were speaking in an unknown tongue. The sounds that reached my ears chilled me, somehow. There was an air of chant about them, and as I crept closer to the source of the noise I dropped to a crouch and hid myself in the underbrush.
Slowly, I made my way to the procession. For it was a procession. A line of torch-bearing men wove through the jungle, their ululating canticle sending a shiver through my very being. I could see them now, and they were both beautiful and terrifying. Smooth, slick bodies undulated as they walked, bare-chested and frightfully strong. Leggings of some sort of iridescent material clung to lean thighs, and the moonlight reflecting off of it was somehow familiar. In the glow of the torchlight I saw finely chiseled features accentuated with some sort of paint, white and red and primal. Woven through the men’s long black hair - sleek like the pelt of an otter and gleaming - were white curved objects that could only be teeth.
I held my breath as the procession danced and wove passed. And then, without warning, my eyes beheld a terrifying sight. Gagged and bound and dragged behind two natives was Captian Smythe! He was a captive, quite clearly, and looked as though he had been subdued with force.
I maintained my position, waiting until the last of the strange line had passed beyond me. There could be no doubt that these men were unfriendly. Gritting my teeth I transmuted myself a blade and followed after the receding torchlight.
***
The trek through the dense jungle was difficult. My clothing ripped on thorns and branches, and the thick jungle mud clung to my bare feet. The torchlight led me on, and over the nighttime sounds I could hear that strange, exotic chanting.
The moon was low when the procession disappeared into a cave at the heart of the island. Never before had I seen such a strange geographical feature! Surrounding the mountain that rose up was a natural moat. This in itself was not altogether odd, but when I drew close to inspect it I found it was seawater! And deeper than I cared to imagine. Something about the black ring of water made me uneasy. I crossed the rickety bridge that stretched across the moat as quickly as I could manage and descended into the cave.
I was not much given to spelunking, and the descent into the darkness of the stone tunnel was discomforting and unfamiliar. I clung to the wall as best as I could, glad of my bare feet. Naked soles made little sound on stone.
The tunnel wove and twisted down into the depths of the island. Soon I became aware of a new noise, the telltale sound of water rushing against stone. There was water in the very walls of the cavern!
My fear grew as I came to the mouth of a large chamber. Water rushed out of holes in the cavern walls, into a subterranean stream that circled round the chamber and flowed into a large pool at the very center. I hugged the wall, not wanting to be seen. Before the pool in the center of the cavern there was a dais, and on the dais was what could only the leader of these strange people. Taller than the others with hair down to his ankles, he wore a diadem of human bones and a ceremonial robe of the same iridescent material as the trousers of those in the procession. On the ground before him was Smythe.
This didn’t look good. I gripped my knife tightly but was uncertain how to proceed. Suddenly, before I could make a decision, the entire cavern was filled with the sounds of chanting. One word was repeated again and again, over and over with increasing fervor. Kulshedra.
There was a sound like stone against stone and the water in the pool began to churn. The atmosphere in the cavern rose to a fever pitch, bodies writhing and undulating in orgiastic frenzy. I was frozen in place as the horrors grew.
The priest - for that was all I could think of him as - stood silhouetted against the churning maelstrom in the center of the pool, arms stretched wide as though in benediction. Out of the whirlpool rose a monstrous head, slick and black and draconian. The chanting took on a frantic note and the priest stepped back, screaming something over the noise of the water and the chant and the beast.
It was over within moments. The draconian serpent roared once, the sight of it’s great gleaming fangs cementing me to the floor. And then it struck, and in a high scream and a spray of blood, Captain Smythe was no more.
I must have made a noise, some signal that I was there, for suddenly the eyes of the creature were upon me. I stumbled backwards but it was too late. The natives turned as one, and wicked looking knives were brandished. The beast let out another roar and I found myself able to move as I came to my senses.
I dropped to my knees and pressed my hand against the stone floor, praying I had the strength in me. A surge of power slowed through the stone, jagged stalactites shooting up from the floor and impaling my would-be captors as they ran. Three escaped, closing in on me with a beautiful ferociousness that rivaled that of the beast! They grabbed me before I could perform another transmutation and hauled me before the priest.
“Another sacrifice.”
I understood those words. I struggled against them men that held me, twisting and turning. But they were far stronger then I, and soon there was a blade pressed against my throat.
“Let me go!” I protested as valiantly as I could.
“Your death will give Kulshedra strength, and in turn strengthen us.” The pries grinned, and his teeth were white and gleaming. “Be pleased you do not die a wasteful death.”
I was in the clutches of a death cult! The beast was still before me, and it stank like only the creatures of the deep sea could. It’s eyes were mad, but there was a keen intelligence there. I had never seen something so frightening in my life.
The chanting began anew. My time was running out. I thought of my wife, and her hysterics if I never returned home. I thought of my son and how I knew so little of him, despite living with him for fourteen years. I thought of my sins and my follies and most of all I thought that I did not want to die.
With all the strength I could muster, I twisted my hand. Stone rose up, taking the shape of crudely sculpted statues. There were legs and arms and a head, but no detail. The chanting broke off suddenly. I wrenched out of my captor’s grasp and rolled away as my crude golems advanced upon the cultists. The beast screamed and that was all the warning I had. I dove for the wall but the beast’s teeth caught my shoulder, tearing flesh and cloth. I swung with my fist, and I felt bone and teeth shatter as the blow connected. I landed hard on my back, the wind knocked out of me and my shoulder screaming in pain and a piece of the thing‘s tooth embedded in my muscle.
Again the monster lashed at me, all curved horns and bared teeth. I rolled to the side and pressed my hands to the floor, forcing a jagged spike of stone into the thing’s open mouth. It screamed and drew back, blood pouring from mouth and eyes. I felt it land on me, staining my face and clothing. The natives screamed, whether in pain or in agony over their wounded god I didn’t know. And I didn’t care. I forced myself to my feet, weak and dizzy as I was. As the great beast fell to the ground in its death throes, I ran from the cave as it began to collapse behind me.
***
Throughout my entire ordeal, I maintained one item. The letter that I had planned to send home from the Eastern Islands. I never did mail it, but placed it in Christoph’s hands myself upon returning home. My shoulder was healed by that time, and though tired and worn from my travel, I was no worse for wear.
I did not impart to my family the details of my ordeal, saying simply that I washed ashore on a deserted island and was unable to transmute a vessel necessary to return home until I was well rested. My wife wailed and carried on, clinging to me and offering sympathies. Christoph only watched with a look of disbelief, a keen and frightening intelligence in his eyes.
I attached the tooth of the beast that I had taken out of the cave with me to a length of leather in a crude necklace and made a gift of it to my son, along with the truth of what had happened and made him promise to never tell his mother. He agreed readily enough and I felt as though hope was not lost for a bond between us.
In two weeks time, I was already planning my next trip abroad.
ETA: A note on names to fend off questions and criticism. Usually, when I have to give a name to a character that doesn't have one, I pick names that have meanings that are symbolic. I didn't do that here. The name I used in this fic for the nameless character was chosen because it's German and it sounded nice. And, aszinjadu put it: it sounds kind of nancy, but still 'rar-I-will-stomp-you!'. Which is how I envision this character.
Much, much thanks to
zinjadu and redrose999 for the suggestions, critique and help on this fic. Anyway, enjoy!Title: The Island of Kulshedra
Author:
theladyfeyleneFandom: FMA
Pairing: N/A - Hohenheim Centric.
Rating: PG-13 for violence
Word Count: 3422
Spoilers: Full series spoilers
Summary: Hohenheim had only wanted a small trip to the Eastern Islands, to put some distance between himself and problems at home. But a sudden storm plunges him into a nightmare the likes of which the alchemist had never imagined...
It was over a century ago that I first came to the island of Kulshedra. I was a much younger man in those days, and possessed with a ravenous thirst for adventure. I had a young man’s desire to see the world and all its wonders. I was sound of mind and fit of body, and in those days by physical form wasn’t prone to the rot of the soul.
I must confess that it was by accident that I came to those accursed islands. I was seeking excuses to leave my home more often and for longer periods of time. My wife was growing increasingly difficult to deal with, prone to tempers and fits of hysterics. I hardly knew my son any longer, and our relationship was strained to the point of breaking. And so I threw myself into research and studying abroad, traveling the continent to expand my knowledge and to save my sanity.
In the late 1700s, I booked passage on a trading vessel that was headed to the Eastern Islands. A sea voyage, I felt, was just the cure for a crumbling family life. The open sea, the promise of adventure in a foreign land, and time away from the stifling confines of home would do me good. I had yet to travel far by sea, and I was quite looking forward to spending time on the Eastern Islands. It was reported to be a land rich with culture and scientific study, as well as more fanciful things.
The voyage began pleasantly, with a strong wind from the west and clear weather ahead of us. I quickly made a friend of the captain, a grizzled seaman by the name of Smythe. He was from down Queensport way, and I had studied with a cousin of his ten years back. I am not ashamed to say that my connections to the captain’s family afforded me clean quarters and the more fresh of the rations.
I dined with Captain Smythe often, and sat spellbound to his tales of sea travel. He spoke of great serpentine creatures out in the deepest parts of the sea, where no land met the eye. Sometime, he claimed, you could see the coils of their body moving though the water on moonless nights. They sank ships, squeezing hulls in the manner of a snake squeezing its prey. Few men had seen them from anything but a distance and lived. He spoke also of the Ocean Lights, colours in the sky up north where the ice never melted. Brilliant flashes of green and blue in crystalline hue that spread across the sky like the wings of a mystical bird.
I could listen to him speak for hours. This was the life I craved, deep in the recesses of my soul. But instead I was chained to a childhood sweetheart I had fallen out of love with long ago and a child I had never wanted. I clung to these vicarious feats of heroism like a starving man. I stood at the railing of the deck, my eyes cast out to the sea in hopes of catching sight of one of the great sea serpents.
On the second week of our voyage, as I sat at the captain’s desk penning a letter to my son - he had some of the lust for travel and excitement that I myself had, after all - there rose up a great storm. I ran to the deck, out of some morbid instinct. Never had I witnessed an act of nature so violent or terrible. Lightening split the sky like a knife, turning the world into a caricature made of white ice. Before my very eyes the waves rose to mountainous heights, capped with angry foam. The trading vessel shuddered and all around me sailors yelled and ran along the wet deck. I could feel the heavy layer of fear that had us in its grasp and it struck me to the core. Still clutched in my hand was the half-written letter to my son, and as I watched the lightning-lit waves crash and pound around the ship I realized there was a strong chance that I would never see Christoph again.
That was the last thought I had before a great wave crashed over the ship. I heard the sickening crack of splitting timber and then nothing.
The first thing that I can recall was the steady beat of sun on my face. My memories were hazy, unclear. There was a fierce pounding in my head and a bright light behind my eyes. And above all that, I was moving.
Slowly, I opened my eyes. Pain stabbed through my vision and when it faded I was laying beneath the great blue whelk itself. I struggled to sit up and found that I was at sea still, stretched across a substantial piece of driftwood. All around me were broken pieces of the trading vessel, floating in a now-calm sea. I cast my eyes across the gentle waves, searching for fellow survivors. I saw none.
But more pressing and frightening to me was the lack of land on the horizon. I was adrift in the open sea with only the clothes on my back and the half-letter to Christoph still clutched in my hand. My options were limited, but I would utilize all of them.
Stretching my aching body, joints stiff from the awkward position in which I was laying and the salt water that had seeped into my bones, I began to steer my impromptu vessel towards other pieces of debris. It was a long and arduous task but I gathered together enough wood to fashion a crude boat of my own. Weak and tired as I was, the transmutation was far from perfect but it would serve.
Among the wreckage I found but one barrel of rations, and all but the soda crackers were spoiled beyond eating. I could purify the sea water with my alchemy, but I only had so much strength left. I managed a few sips of water before lapsing into unconsciousness once more.
The next few days were a blur. I went from waking to sleeping without much change between the two. I drank and ate when I could call up the strength, and scanned the horizon for land. But no land could be seen, and I began to despair. I, who had cheated death already, now stared it down on the open sea.
I thought for certain my time had come when I glimpsed a strange apparition out in the distance. The sunlight beat down upon the cerulean surface of the sea, hurting my eyes with its brightness. But there, near the horizon line, was something in the water. A strange black rise, moving through the waves. Squinting, I tried to make out details.
I drew back in horror when my eyes finally focused. Out beyond my small craft, out where the waves met the sky, there moved through the ocean a great beast the likes of which I’d never seen. Black and scaled, it’s looped coils gleamed in the burning sun. It was one of the sea serpents, the crusher of boats. I could only pray that my small vessel would not attract it’s attention.
I watched in rapt horror as the creature glided through the waves. Suddenly, without warning, it twisted. It leapt out of the sea like a dolphin, its great mass sending waves that rocked my boat even from such a distance. It twisted at the height of its arc and I fell back at the sight of its serpentine head, its wicked teeth visible even from so far. And then it plunged back into the depths, and the sea went silent once more.
Eventually, dehydrated and weakened, I spotted land. In the distance, a smudge against the sky, was an island. I nearly thanked a god I didn’t believe in for this small blessing. Despite my lack of strength, I steered my small boat towards the island, using the last of my waning strength to strengthen the waves and push me closer to my newly found destination.
I was unconscious when I hit the island, the jolt of meeting land shaking me out of my stupor. I flung myself from the boat and fell upon the sand, thankful to be on land once more. Perhaps I would live through the ordeal after all!
I needed to find shelter and, if possible, civilization. I knew I hadn’t come to the Eastern Islands. By the position of the sun and the stars I could tell we had been blown off course drastically. I had no way of knowing where I had washed up, all the sea charts were long gone.
The island itself was paradisiacal, though I could hardly appreciate it. White sand beaches led to dense forests of an almost tropical nature. I ploughed inland, without even the strength to transmute a knife. The first stream I came to I fell upon, lapping at the fresh water like some raving beast. I was more beast than man at that point, starving and thirsty and half-mad from the sun. The water was like ambrosia. I slept by the stream, sated and hydrated, and woke feeling more like a human being.
Once I had drank my fill once more, I set about following the stream to it’s origins. My travels took me to a large pond at the base of a striking waterfall. Gladly I stripped off my tattered clothing and bathed, washing away the salt and sand and grime of my trials upon the sea.
Floating in the clear water, I came back to myself some. I could now appreciate the place I had found myself. It looked to me like something out of a novel, all blue water and green trees and vibrant flowers.
Once I had soaked to my satisfaction, I washed my clothing and mended it as best as I could with alchemy. It was growing dark, and I knew I needed to procure shelter for myself. It was an easy enough thing to fashion a shallow cave out of the rock beside the waterfall, and far safer than risking upsetting some wild animal in its own cave. I lit a small fire and in the cozy warmth of my makeshift cave, I continued my letter to my son.
I don’t know what it time it was, but the moon was well risen when I was awoken from my light slumber by the sound of voices in the jungle. I yawned and stretched and moved to the mouth of my cave, peering into the darkness. There, among the trees, were the lights of torches. I strained to make out the voices but all I could hear was gibberish - either the distance was too great or the bearers of the lights were speaking a language I didn’t know.
Cautious, I crept out of the shelter of the cave and made my way into the jungle. The voices grew clearer and I was certain now that these natives - if they were indeed natives - were speaking in an unknown tongue. The sounds that reached my ears chilled me, somehow. There was an air of chant about them, and as I crept closer to the source of the noise I dropped to a crouch and hid myself in the underbrush.
Slowly, I made my way to the procession. For it was a procession. A line of torch-bearing men wove through the jungle, their ululating canticle sending a shiver through my very being. I could see them now, and they were both beautiful and terrifying. Smooth, slick bodies undulated as they walked, bare-chested and frightfully strong. Leggings of some sort of iridescent material clung to lean thighs, and the moonlight reflecting off of it was somehow familiar. In the glow of the torchlight I saw finely chiseled features accentuated with some sort of paint, white and red and primal. Woven through the men’s long black hair - sleek like the pelt of an otter and gleaming - were white curved objects that could only be teeth.
I held my breath as the procession danced and wove passed. And then, without warning, my eyes beheld a terrifying sight. Gagged and bound and dragged behind two natives was Captian Smythe! He was a captive, quite clearly, and looked as though he had been subdued with force.
I maintained my position, waiting until the last of the strange line had passed beyond me. There could be no doubt that these men were unfriendly. Gritting my teeth I transmuted myself a blade and followed after the receding torchlight.
The trek through the dense jungle was difficult. My clothing ripped on thorns and branches, and the thick jungle mud clung to my bare feet. The torchlight led me on, and over the nighttime sounds I could hear that strange, exotic chanting.
The moon was low when the procession disappeared into a cave at the heart of the island. Never before had I seen such a strange geographical feature! Surrounding the mountain that rose up was a natural moat. This in itself was not altogether odd, but when I drew close to inspect it I found it was seawater! And deeper than I cared to imagine. Something about the black ring of water made me uneasy. I crossed the rickety bridge that stretched across the moat as quickly as I could manage and descended into the cave.
I was not much given to spelunking, and the descent into the darkness of the stone tunnel was discomforting and unfamiliar. I clung to the wall as best as I could, glad of my bare feet. Naked soles made little sound on stone.
The tunnel wove and twisted down into the depths of the island. Soon I became aware of a new noise, the telltale sound of water rushing against stone. There was water in the very walls of the cavern!
My fear grew as I came to the mouth of a large chamber. Water rushed out of holes in the cavern walls, into a subterranean stream that circled round the chamber and flowed into a large pool at the very center. I hugged the wall, not wanting to be seen. Before the pool in the center of the cavern there was a dais, and on the dais was what could only the leader of these strange people. Taller than the others with hair down to his ankles, he wore a diadem of human bones and a ceremonial robe of the same iridescent material as the trousers of those in the procession. On the ground before him was Smythe.
This didn’t look good. I gripped my knife tightly but was uncertain how to proceed. Suddenly, before I could make a decision, the entire cavern was filled with the sounds of chanting. One word was repeated again and again, over and over with increasing fervor. Kulshedra.
There was a sound like stone against stone and the water in the pool began to churn. The atmosphere in the cavern rose to a fever pitch, bodies writhing and undulating in orgiastic frenzy. I was frozen in place as the horrors grew.
The priest - for that was all I could think of him as - stood silhouetted against the churning maelstrom in the center of the pool, arms stretched wide as though in benediction. Out of the whirlpool rose a monstrous head, slick and black and draconian. The chanting took on a frantic note and the priest stepped back, screaming something over the noise of the water and the chant and the beast.
It was over within moments. The draconian serpent roared once, the sight of it’s great gleaming fangs cementing me to the floor. And then it struck, and in a high scream and a spray of blood, Captain Smythe was no more.
I must have made a noise, some signal that I was there, for suddenly the eyes of the creature were upon me. I stumbled backwards but it was too late. The natives turned as one, and wicked looking knives were brandished. The beast let out another roar and I found myself able to move as I came to my senses.
I dropped to my knees and pressed my hand against the stone floor, praying I had the strength in me. A surge of power slowed through the stone, jagged stalactites shooting up from the floor and impaling my would-be captors as they ran. Three escaped, closing in on me with a beautiful ferociousness that rivaled that of the beast! They grabbed me before I could perform another transmutation and hauled me before the priest.
“Another sacrifice.”
I understood those words. I struggled against them men that held me, twisting and turning. But they were far stronger then I, and soon there was a blade pressed against my throat.
“Let me go!” I protested as valiantly as I could.
“Your death will give Kulshedra strength, and in turn strengthen us.” The pries grinned, and his teeth were white and gleaming. “Be pleased you do not die a wasteful death.”
I was in the clutches of a death cult! The beast was still before me, and it stank like only the creatures of the deep sea could. It’s eyes were mad, but there was a keen intelligence there. I had never seen something so frightening in my life.
The chanting began anew. My time was running out. I thought of my wife, and her hysterics if I never returned home. I thought of my son and how I knew so little of him, despite living with him for fourteen years. I thought of my sins and my follies and most of all I thought that I did not want to die.
With all the strength I could muster, I twisted my hand. Stone rose up, taking the shape of crudely sculpted statues. There were legs and arms and a head, but no detail. The chanting broke off suddenly. I wrenched out of my captor’s grasp and rolled away as my crude golems advanced upon the cultists. The beast screamed and that was all the warning I had. I dove for the wall but the beast’s teeth caught my shoulder, tearing flesh and cloth. I swung with my fist, and I felt bone and teeth shatter as the blow connected. I landed hard on my back, the wind knocked out of me and my shoulder screaming in pain and a piece of the thing‘s tooth embedded in my muscle.
Again the monster lashed at me, all curved horns and bared teeth. I rolled to the side and pressed my hands to the floor, forcing a jagged spike of stone into the thing’s open mouth. It screamed and drew back, blood pouring from mouth and eyes. I felt it land on me, staining my face and clothing. The natives screamed, whether in pain or in agony over their wounded god I didn’t know. And I didn’t care. I forced myself to my feet, weak and dizzy as I was. As the great beast fell to the ground in its death throes, I ran from the cave as it began to collapse behind me.
Throughout my entire ordeal, I maintained one item. The letter that I had planned to send home from the Eastern Islands. I never did mail it, but placed it in Christoph’s hands myself upon returning home. My shoulder was healed by that time, and though tired and worn from my travel, I was no worse for wear.
I did not impart to my family the details of my ordeal, saying simply that I washed ashore on a deserted island and was unable to transmute a vessel necessary to return home until I was well rested. My wife wailed and carried on, clinging to me and offering sympathies. Christoph only watched with a look of disbelief, a keen and frightening intelligence in his eyes.
I attached the tooth of the beast that I had taken out of the cave with me to a length of leather in a crude necklace and made a gift of it to my son, along with the truth of what had happened and made him promise to never tell his mother. He agreed readily enough and I felt as though hope was not lost for a bond between us.
In two weeks time, I was already planning my next trip abroad.
ETA: A note on names to fend off questions and criticism. Usually, when I have to give a name to a character that doesn't have one, I pick names that have meanings that are symbolic. I didn't do that here. The name I used in this fic for the nameless character was chosen because it's German and it sounded nice. And, as
zinjadu put it: it sounds kind of nancy, but still 'rar-I-will-stomp-you!'. Which is how I envision this character.
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You're language was beautiful! Very well paced! I so loved this!
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Thanks! And thanks so much for the help and advice!
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And the last line? Perfect and so sad. Poor Christoph. D:
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Yeah. :/ I hated writing that, but... don't worry, I'm sure Christoph will get to go on at least one of Hohenheim's adventures.
Even Hoho can't withstand a full blown tantrum.no subject
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The only pulp stories I've ever read were the old 'Conan the Barbarian' books and comics and this adventure of Hohenheim's reminded me of those a lot - great job :)