Tuesday, April 22, 2014

Ossuary - Frame Story

"Captain!” the man, barely more than a boy shouted.

He'd climbed the rigging to about halfway up the mast, spyglass in hand. “There's an island on the horizon!” The captain, a man with salt in his skin and hair, 40 year sailing veteran, looked along his cadet's line of sight. He pulled out a much finer spyglass and sighted the dark blur on the blue horizon. His brow furrowed in confusion. They were in the middle of the Atlantic on their way to New York. There were no islands out here. He'd made this run more than 20 times, there'd been no island here a year ago.

“Mr. Arnold!” The Captain shouted. His first officer was beside him in under ten seconds. The huge man was dependable to a fault. “We've sighted an island that isn't on the map. In 5 hours we'll disembark on this island and do a survey. A midway port in the Atlantic would net us all a handsome bonus from White Star Line. Let the crew know after morning mess.”

Light was just beginning to brighten the sky. It would be at least an hour before the crew was up and working. But the captain was a man in love with the sea. When he was on dry land he felt small, limited, insignificant. One voice among thousands. Here on the open ocean he felt at peace. He was awake hours before his men every morning breathing in the salty air.

The island came into view far sooner than the Captain had believed. It was also much larger than he had first believed. Miles long and green as the shores of his mother's country. No, greener. As they moved closer he saw the lush greenery of the African Congo, not the clover hills of Ireland. The Captain checked their speed. The island was approaching far too quickly. Yes, the island is coming to us the Captain realized. He shook his head roughly. That was nonsense. Islands couldn't move. Perhaps he was getting old enough to retire as his wife had constantly nagged. He roused the crew to their posts well before the hour was up. The crew quickly got to their work and the big ship came to a halt about a quarter mile form shore, just soon enough to avoid running into too shallow water.

“Gentlemen, and whatever else is on this tub, this is an uncharted island.” the Captain's gruff booming voice hit the sleepy men like raw coffee beans. “Which means that if we chart it and report back we may be looking at a second payday from White Star. The loading crew will use the lifeboats to go ashore and begin a survey. Mr. Arnold!”

“Yes Captain.”

“You will lead the survey party. Make a rough sketch of the island and be back by sunset.” The man saluted and turned to gather the necessary crew members. “Oh, and Mr. Arnold. If you find anything valuable out there I encourage you to bring it back. We still have plenty of room for cargo.”

***

Two dozen sailors hacked their way through the thick vines and foliage. Most of them had never seen vegetation like that. It was like walking into a whole new world. The smell of the sea vanished after the first 50 yards replaced by a thick green smell. It was getting hotter the farther they got from shore. All 24 of them were sweating and grumbling after little more than an hour. Another hour passed without anything different coming into view. On the third hour they found a stone wall covered in creeping vines and various dark plants. “My brother would kill for a find like this.” Arnold muttered to himself.

His brother, an archeologist for the British Museum, had only brought back a few pots and relics in the last few years. And bored the shit out of his younger brother making him look at the books he'd written and the stuff he'd collected. Arnold the younger used his knife to clear away the plant life. There were some old illegible scratches on the lichen coated stone. Big blocky letters that look kind of like english. Atrocitus the sailor sounded out in his head. It had been a long time since Latin in Sunday school. He could sound it out but he had no idea what it meant.

“Oy!” One of the men yelled. “Have a look at this!” Mr. Arnold walked quickly to the voice and immediately recognized

“Good work.” Was all he could say. A huge opening in the stone structure yawned before him. The top of it had to be at least 50 feet tall. Based on the rubble around the entrance there had been stone decorations there at one point in time. The point in question being better than several centuries ago. Pieces of carved stone were littered all around the gateway. About 15 feet in the bright sunlight just disappeared. Like there was a point the light couldn't pass. “We're gonna need torches and a lot of rope.”

An hour later they'd fashioned a dozen torches and tied a few dozen ropy vines together. As it turns out, they needn't have bothered with the rope. The entire structure was just a single massive chamber. Statues, whole and undamaged were abundant inside. What they were statues of was up to interpretation. They didn't match any mythological or religious figures the sailors had ever seen. And they'd literally been around the world a few times. The figures weren't Christian, Muslim, Jewish, Obeah, Taoist, Shinto, or shamanistic. They were grotesque misshapen lumps of rock with unorthodox geometries. Never the less, they each possessed individual qualities that separated them from each other.

“Gents, we seem to have found some valuables.” Each statue had a coffin sized chest laying at the foot of it. The chests were made of some precious metal of a light pinkish hue. Mr. Arnold began organizing the men to carry the chests back to the ship along the trail they had blazed. The boxes were strangely light, maybe 50 lbs a piece. Working in pairs the men were able to take eight of the nine chests from the building. And they were happy to be gone. The place had a way of making cold settle into their bones. All alone Mr. Arnold's curiosity got the best of him.

“Guess I am just like my brother.”

He pulled his knife and started working the edges of the box to pry it open. The knife slipped in just the barest fraction of an inch. Black smoke gushed out of the coffin and Arnold got a lungful before he could pull back. It scorched his throat and lungs, made his eyes burn. He started coughing and couldn't stop. He coughed up a thick clear fluid, more and more with each cough. He was drowning on dry land, some black corner of his brain noted with a sense of irony. He wasn't getting enough air to cough up the fluid anymore. His head felt light and compressed at the same time, his chest burned fiercely and he could barely see through his teared up eyes. He tipped over and his head cracked against the unforgiving stone.

He died cold and alone with his last sight being the lid of the coffin opening to release more of the black smoke. It swirled around his corpse for a few moments before soaking into the body, now an empty shell. The corpse began to spasm and twitch. More clear fluid poured from it's mouth onto the stone. The last of the smoke disappeared into the dead flesh and the spasms stopped. The corpse stirred slowly, experimentally flexing digits and limbs. The former Mr. Arnold opened it's eyes to view it's prison. The metal box, once bound shut by the rites of a long dead people lay open. Inside were mere specks of dust where bone had once been. The boxes had succumb to the destroyer of all things, time. But so had the not-Arnold's previous physical form.

“A perfect vessel gone to waste.” It muttered in the dead man's voice. “Oh, but not this.”

It reached into the box and retrieved something that didn't belong entirely to the physical world. Age had not diminished it in the least, just as it had not diminished the potency of the being inhabiting the body of the late Mr. Arnold. The being shuffled through the memories of it's temporary shell and learned much, including the fact that it had not been entombed alone. It's brothers had already been removed from the ancient prison. The greedy fools. Worked into the stone of the temple were the bones of 10,000 men and women who had willingly died to imprison it. Even if the structure crumbled to dust the beings entombed there would not have been able to escape on their own.

The boundaries set in the ether were firm and immovable to such as it. But to mortals, to beings native to this world such boundaries meant little. They had destroyed the sanctity of the place in their ignorance. Not-Arnold walked from it's ancient prison in malevolent glee, it mocked it's long dead foes with every step. Cursed their souls with every breath it drew into the dead man's lungs. Then it spoke the words that a civilization had died to keep from being spoken. “We are free!”

It headed back to the boats it knew were moored at the shoreline. It knew exactly what the Captain would do with it's brothers. And it had absolutely no objections to those plans. The empire whose name had been lost to time had been able to contain them because they had been in the same place. This being from beyond the world of matter would not make the same mistake again.

The ship headed out later than night. The Captain had overseen the stowing of their treasure and issued express orders that none of their cargo was to be opened. They had been careful not to jostle the odd boxes overmuch and the Captain was no stranger to handling historical artifacts. Delicacy was the key. There were museums in Britain and Europe, as well as a few individuals in America who would pay handsomely for sarcophagi like these. And for a map to the island where they had been found.

“Mr. Arnold!” The Captain called, more out of habit than anything. Like usual his first officer appeared in front of him in a minute amount of time. But something was off. He looked pale, too pale for one who spent so much time in the sun. Certainly more pale than he had no more than a few hours ago.

“Yes Captain.” the man said, as per usual. The Captain dismissed the change out of hand citing his old age once more.

“The men reported 9 boxes, but only 8 are on board now.” he stated. The Captain was looking for an explanation.

“Too badly damaged, sir. Unlike the others it was badly rusted and nearly broke apart when I touched it.”

“That is unfortunate. Carry on.”

Oh he certainly would. Not-Arnold smiled once his back was turned to the Captain. He put a hand to his loose and heavy shirt to feel for the item he had taken from the old prison. Soon it promised itself. The Ossuary was now far behind. Unthinkable delights lay ahead.

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