The Kingdom / Chapter 01.07 - "The Explorer"
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
The Explorer had always been the adventurous sort. Even in his childhood, he learned more by doing than by reading, by action than by words, so it came as no surprise when he set out on his own, traveling from here to there, seeing the world through his own eyes rather than through those of a scholar. Rucksack over his shoulder and a determined gait in his step, he walked the highways, back roads, dirt roads, and forest paths of New England, always on the lookout for points of interest. At night, he rarely slept at established inns, instead making his bed along roadsides or in the barns of amicable farmers with whom he swapped tales of his journeys for news of the day and local legends.
One particular legend he found himself tracking was the myth of Sint Holo, a native snake god. What made the Explorer curious about Sint Holo, however, was not the reptilian nature of the creature – it was quite ordinary for the various American tribes to deify animals – but that the legends were simply out of place. Sint Holo, as he understood, was venerated by the Cherokee and other Southern tribes, not the Iroquois and tribes of the North. Yet there was a local myth suggesting a shrine to the snake god at the far end of a series of hidden caves west of Bristol, and with a little luck and a couple days worth of searching, he found the cavern entrance, a tiny portal with the vague shape of a snake chipped into its stone rim.
Magnesium lamp lit, he stepped into the darkness, carefully studying the natural walls in search of direction. Deeper he descended, following hints left eons past in the form of rough carvings and crude paintings which gave rise to more than a small measure of hope. In the depths, he heard the echo of bats and the flutter of their wings, and for a moment he froze. A bat, by itself, would not be dangerous. But a hundred? A hundred times a hundred? While the tiny winged rodents might not be able to do much, larger numbers meant a greater chance for contracting the madness. Still, the desire to learn all there was to know of Sint Holo carried him further, the need to explain, at least in his own mind, the deity's mysterious presence in the New England states.
He would not be deterred by bats.
Caught in a thoughtful reverie, the Explorer was too focused on the question of the snake god's origin – and not paying enough attention to his own footsteps – when a patch of loose gravel caused him to slip, and he fell, tumbling off the edge of a ravine, landing with a loud CRACK! at the bottom.
He swore, his voice carrying throughout the cavern, echoing through its earthen corridors until the distant bats were silenced. Then came a screeching and a rush of air and the crevice into which the Explorer found himself lodged became a prison holding him in place as two thousand or more leathery wings beat their way past him, swirled around him, and shot up the dark pit into which he had only moments ago fallen. Unable to move, he remained an unwelcome intruder into their home, and many expressed their displeasure with a quick claw or nip of the teeth as they passed.
And then they were gone. Alone again in the darkness – for it was truly dark, once the fall had extinguished his lamp – the Explorer felt around for his rucksack. Gingerly dislodging himself from the large crack in the stone, he winced as a pain shot up his hip, then back down his leg to his shin. He had broken his leg. Things would be much more difficult. So intense was the pain he nearly passed out, but he caught himself with a few deep breaths and searched again for his pack. Fingers hooked onto a canvas strap and he pulled the bag closer. He would need to set the bone, and for that it was a good thing he had the foresight to bring splints and bandages along with an extra canteen of water, a hunk of cheese, and some kippered beef. Be prepared, that was his motto, and he smirked as it crossed his mind. It would, after all, make an excellent motto for any young man.
Suddenly a blinding light filled his eyes and a grunt of surprise sounded. Rough hands with thick, strong fingers grabbed at him, and he howled in agony as they yanked him from the floor of the cave until his dangling feet no longer touched. He was thrown over the shoulder of a large man in what he mistook to be an alligator-skin coat, and as his eyes adjusted to the strange light, he counted four of them, hulking men whose features he could not make out, speaking to each other in grunts and clicks. Looking down over the back of his captor – and wincing with every bouncing step as they traveled quickly through the cavern – he realized his mistake. It wasn't a reptilian jacket worn by the one carrying him; indeed, it was hard, almost scale-like skin!
The Explorer's heart leaped in his chest. Surely these were the servants if Sint Holo!
He was hauled through what he expected to find – cavern after cavern, the occasional wall painting or carving catching his eye – but the unexpected came in the form of a large round room, not round as you might find while spelunking, where a sinkhole left a rough impression of a circle, but finely-cut granite and marble, polished to a shine. His eyes widened in surprise, and he forgot the pain in his leg long enough to take in the quality of the chamber. The craftsmanship was astounding, the kind of quality one might see in a fine hotel or perhaps even a cathedral. Gold and silver inlays glinted in the strange yellow light of four disks which hovered, quartering the room, at the four points of the compass.
Pain crackled again through his body as he was dropped to the floor off to one side of the room. With a series of clicks and a murmuring hum, the one who had been carrying him directed the others each to position themselves at a floating disk, one for each servant. He took to the northern disk, himself, running his hands along its top, and the others followed suit, their fingers tracing patterns in the metallic surfaces. What they were doing, he could not fathom, but he began to wonder if he might not be watching the calling of a god, the summoning of Sint Holo, himself. Bracing against the wall, the Explorer watched with anticipation, ignoring broken leg bone, adrenaline dulling the pain.
A white shaft of light lanced down from a glass dome hung from the ceiling, its glow brightening the room, then smaller beams extended from the blazing column to each of the four disks. Still, the servants worked furiously and in concert as their strange ritual reached a fevered pitch.
“What... what are you doing?” he called out. “Are you calling your god?”
The one who carried him, large and bare-chested, turned slowly, and for the first time the Explorer got a look at the man's face. His eyes were large, black orbs, and his mouth tiny and lipless. Even so, the thing managed a sneer as it regarded him.
“You. Make: Like us,” it droned. “All. Make: Like us.”
And then the light engulfed the room.
