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The Desert

Into the White

By Dawson AndrewPublished 3 years ago Updated 3 years ago 8 min read
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I look across the great white expanse. Through the white haze, I barely see the outline of the mountains in the distance. My body involuntarily shivers from the cold and anticipation. I pull down my mask to compare a postcard showing a lush paradise with a backdrop of three massive peaks, to the barely visible range in front of me. A red arrow points to the base of the mountain on the right. I begin moving again. I want to reach the foot of the mountain before sundown, then explore the cave tomorrow. I heave with each step as I pull my sled behind me. The wind picks up, swirling around me. The white air blurs my vision like static on an old television and I begin to lose what resemblance of a mountain range I had in front of me. I feel my heart palpitate wildly as adrenaline rushes through my body. The howling wind rushes past me. Was that a cry for help? Black shadows circle me like a shark about to charge its prey. The howling becomes so deafening I can’t hear myself shouting into the void. Then in an instant, everything stops. I see nothing but blinding white. I hold my arm out in front of me and it slowly fades to white as I extend it. Not into the snow, but a hazy white mist. I jerk my arm back as a ghostly figure rushes past me. Was that a laugh or a cry? Another shadow follows, then one on my right and two on my left. They begin to circle closer, slowly tightening the already small gaps between them. I make a dash to break free, but something pushes me and I fall into the snow, flailing like a fish out of water. I need to roll over and breathe, but something is holding my head down, deep into the snow. I feel finger-like appendages snake around my skull and through my hair. I thrash and fight so that I might catch one small breath of air. But try as I might, I still can’t breathe, there is only snow. I reach back and try to fight the thing that is thrusting my head forward, but there is seemingly nothing there. The edges of my vision grow dark. Finally an end to the white. I begin to embrace the encroaching darkness as a long lost friend. It seeps in behind my eyes and washes over me as I let go. I release my lungs in one final exhale, and my world turns from white to black.

I open my eyes and my lungs are inexplicably full of air. I exhale and breathe deeply. I start to fight with my invisible predator until I realise that I am lying on my back. I race to my feet expecting my sled to catch me, but I stumble forward as there is nothing holding me back. I look up, and with great difficulty, I find the horizon. Nothing. No mountains, not even a hill. Just the white desert. I turn to look for my sled and I am faced with some of the most intricate and breathtakingly beautiful masonry I have ever seen. Two engraved columns frame the contrasting black depths within, and an ornate arch joins the two at least twenty meters from the ground. Only then am I taken aback by the mountain range that towers before me. There is no way I could have accidentally travelled such a distance. Something was afoot. Perhaps the ghostly shadows wanted me here. Perhaps It wanted me here. I cautiously edge towards the entrance, I reach out and place my hand on the nearest column. I trace the deep lines in front of me. Pictures of a dragon? Some otherworldly creature? A planet - no - an entire solar system. The images on the column dance together up the entire pillar, weaving into other beings and creatures. The column felt warm somehow. I linger there, basking in the warmth until I finally begin to move toward my endgame. The earth stands still as I take a breath and step under the archway into the shadows. Almost instantly I have to undress. The air inside was temperate, almost tropical. I pull the postcard and a matchbook from my jacket before laying it on the ground with my boots, bag and sled. The snow has stopped less than five metres in, where I now feel the soft, warm earth under the soles of my feet.

After a short walk, I arrive at the foot of an altar where there lie three basins. Each bowl has a symbol in front of it, carved into the large stone pedestal on which all three rest. The first symbol was a circle with a line underneath and a single dot above. I pull out my postcard and flip it to show a chart with different symbols and their translations. In amongst this ancient language, I find what I am looking for: this land of mine. I rush to my bag and retrieve a glass flask filled with deep purple grains of sand, flecked with red and black. I carefully remove the cork and watch the foreign dirt trickle into the first basin. An hourglass slowly letting time pass by. The next symbol is similar to the letter ‘Y’, but with two lines running vertically from the base instead of one. I am already very familiar with this marking: true believer/disciple. I place the flask on the ground and unsheath the knife on my belt. Over the middle basin, I hold the hilt in my right hand and the blade in my left. Without hesitation, I pull the knife toward my body and flinch as I feel the blade slice my palm. I hold my hand still and watch the deep red fall from my palm to splatter and pool on the stone below. I quickly rip fabric from my undershirt and wrap it tightly around my hand to stop the bleeding. The final symbol was one circle inside another, with a line slicing vertically through both of them. I refer to my chart once more: direct line. What does that mean? I search around the basin for another clue, something to lead me in the right direction. The stone is rough and warm to the touch, but there are no other markings. I look back at the card and its translations: fire, divine, world, devour, descendant. Descendant is two circles, one inside the other. Direct descendant. The thought makes my heart sink. There has been nobody left from The Family in decades, almost a century. I have travelled all this distance for naught. What I thought had been the latter part of my life’s entire work, completely washed away with a single translation. I throw the postcard to the ground and sink to my knees. It isn’t supposed to be like this, they said I would have everything I need. My left hand throbs as I look down at the three peaks towering over the lush fauna and pristine lake. And the red arrow pointing to the base of the mountain. I can’t help but chuckle at my own stupidity. I pick up the card and turn it over one final time. Just as I thought, the arrow symbol translates to blood. It was far too simple. I stand up so quickly and with such excitement that I nearly fall forwards into the basin. I steady myself and pull out my knife again. I flick the blade against the flaking red arrow and watch as the crimson snowflake floats down into the basin. The instant the flake hits the stone, the entire cavern begins to shake. Rocks fall from above, crashing to the ground around me. I sprint for the mouth of the cave. I am just about to arrive at my belongings when a gigantic rock plummets from the ceiling, flattening my supplies from view. I hear a crack echo throughout the cavern from outside. It has begun. I exit the cave, still in my trousers and undershirt, the cold whipping around me and tearing at my clothes. My bare feet sink into the thick, heavy snow as I struggle to move forward. Another crack, I feel the very earth shift beneath my feet. Suddenly gigantic plumes of water erupt from the snow around me. I realise that the lake on the postcard is much larger than I anticipated. I am standing on it. The geysers explode around me, blurring my vision with falling ice, water and snow. Without warning, a slab of ice at least 20 times the length of my own height is thrown into the air. Flung into the sky and to the side like it was nothing. Immediately after the ice, comes an incomprehensible, indescribable thing. A monstrous mass of black explodes through the hole it created, and the edges of the hole grow as the gargantuan terror increases in both height and width. Dark writhing appendages grapple with each other as the creature rises. The horrific beast towers over me, I breathe in deeply and can smell the acrid scent of rotten flesh, mixed with sulphur and the stench of an old harbour. I begin to gag and reel as my senses overcome me, and as I question my motives toward this unspeakable horror. I bend my neck back to stare in a combination of both awe and horror, as it was now larger than any skyscraper I know of. An enormous crack begins to rip its way through the ice toward me, growing wider the closer it comes. I attempt to run to the side, but it is already too late. The crevasse is now open underneath me and I fall into the freezing water below. The air is instantly knocked out of my lungs and I desperately try swimming for the surface. My body stings, but the sensation quickly fades as I begin to lose all feeling. The edges of my vision darken as my lungs scream for oxygen. I begin to feel lethargic as the water continues to swirl around me. It was still moving, still growing! The thought of death pushes my body to move faster, to work harder. The surface suddenly arrives and I gasp in the frigid air. But as I try to scramble up the ice with my bare hands, I look up and see the giant ungodly sized monstrosity crashing down towards me. I have achieved my goal, but at what cost?

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About the Creator

Dawson Andrew

Here are some scribblings that actually turned into something (for once).

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