Chapter Nine:
At first there's only the refreshing chill of an early morning breeze tickling my face. Then when I open my eyes there's the soft, orange glow emitting through the walls of my tent as the morning sun begins its ascent into the eastern sky. Laying here, listening to the early morning sounds of the jungle my mind's eye illustrates the image of Ra, the Egyptian god of the sun, sailing across heavens in his boat, "The Barque of Millions of Years." It was believed that he existed to lighten the world after his nightly journey in the underworld, battling the forces of evil. I must be still half-asleep if I'm already pondering about that big ball of gas in the sky really being a sailor traversing in the skies. An interesting thought, indeed. I take my time as I get dressed and listen to the sounds of jungle waking up. The hum and buzz of insects, the cheerful morning melodies and chatters of birds, the thunderous wake-up calls of black howler monkeys, the roar of a jaguar in the distance. It's really quite a relaxing and almost soothing sound.
…At leasts, it's soothing that is until the raucous of Soren and Sandy's children interrupts my reverie. Fumbling with the last button on my shirt, I push aside the tent flap, and am immediately greeted with the sight of Sawyer and Ramses wrestling with each other while simultaneously trying to spit mouthfuls of water at each other. Sandy turns, mixing bowl in hand, to see their display of unruliness. With a heavy sigh, her shoulders sag. She's only been up for what I assume is maybe only an hour or so, but she already looks like she needs a nap.
"Oh, for pity's sake, you two!" she bursts out in exasperation. Setting the bowl down she comes to stand above them. "Eat your food or leave the table and go play!"
"What table? I don't see any table," Sawyer presses, giggling at his apparent wit. He gestures in front of himself to where only camping chairs are sitting around the fire pit. I lift a hand to stifle a chuckle at his antics. The last thing I want is Sandy directing that dark glare at me, especially since she probably needs help more than anything else.
"You know perfectly well what I meant, Sawyer Hotchner," she reprimands, a hand on each hip and an "I-mean-business" expression on her face. "Where's your father?" she asks just as Ramses blows bubbles into his water glass causing it to overflow all over himself. "Here I am trying to cook and feed the masses and he's off gallivanting in the jungle oblivious to the chaos." She rolls her eyes in frustrated annoyance before leaning over the fire to flip the pancakes.
Well, it looks like it's time to finally offer some much-needed help. Coming out of my tent to stand next to her I give her an empathetic smile. "Don't worry, I've got this," I reassure here and turn to face the boys.
First, I direct my attention to Sawyer who's chattering nonstop to Ramses. Patting him on the shoulder to get his attention I give him a friendly smile. "Hey, Big Guy, why don't you finish your pancakes and I'll let you play with that blue yo-yo that you like so much."
"Your yo-yo? Okay!" he yells, jumping up and down in his chair before literally diving into his pancakes.
Next I turn to Ramses who's staring up at me, with his bright blue eyes eager. "And Ramses," I say, my voice automatically changing to a more soft, childish tone, "if you eat your breakfast too, I have another yo-yo that you can play with."
He nods, his curly hair vigorously bobbng up and down with the motion, and takes a big bite of pancakes. I glance back up to Sandy, now the picture of relief as she mouths "thank you" before bending down to pour more pancake batter onto the griddle. Her whole demeanor has changed, it's like she was previously carrying the world on her shoulders, and now someone has finally given her helping hand.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, reveling in the soft breeze as it cools my face and refreshes my mind. It's nice to enjoy this moment of brief clarity while I can, before the harsh humidity and heat of the day imposes upon us. The air's still almost chilly and mist wisps up from the ground. The haze shrouds the sun blocking out most of the direct sunlight.
"Yo-yo! Yo-yo!" Sawyer sings, dancing around me like a madman.
"Yoyoyoyoyoyo," echoes Ramses, though I've come to doubt whether he's actually trying to say "yo-yo" or really attempting to spit out some mad rhymes. Or perhaps he's become a broken record. With the cacophony ringing through my ears, it's difficulty to think of anything of coherence.
"You'd think I fed them straight-up sugar for breakfast or something," Sandy sighs coming to stand next to me as we watch the boys run around.
With a small chuckle I call the boys over and head to my tent to get the yo-yos. I always loved them as a kid. I remember spending hours trying to figure out the latest trick—if I recall correctly—I wasn't half bad. There was one time I almost quit though, maybe since a regrettable…incident, back in fourth grade, but Gerald gave me another one and reminded me how much I liked them, so I kept at it. They'd become quite handy as of late with the two little, energetic balls of energy and often proved to be a big help in keeping them entertained.
"Here you guys go," I say, handing one to each child. "Be careful," I warn with a quick firmness to my voice.
"And for heaven's sake don't twist them around your necks," Sandy adds with a tired hand to her forehead.
There's no sign whatsoever that they even heard her as they excitedly babble back and forth to each other. It's like they're in their own little world.
"Why do I even bother? You know, Arnold," she says, turning back to me, "I hope they don't ruin those yo-yos. I really try to teach them to be careful and treat things nicely but they've got too much of their dad in them. A regular old bull in a china shop." She shrugs before adding, with a crooked smile. "C'est la vie."
"Aw, so that's where they get it from," I chuckle. "And even if they do break them, it's no biggie."
"It's still very nice of you to let them play." She makes a delighted sound as she flips the next batch of pancakes for the final time. "Oh, and the pancakes are done. Do you mind waking up Helga and I'll go find the rest of the group?"
Before I'm aware, my breath leaves me, my gut wrenching like, I've been hit by a ton of bricks. The clarity of the morning chill now devolved into a muddled, stifling heat. What is wrong with me? I mean, I think I can guess what the problem is, but I don't think I'm ready to contemplate it this early in the morning.
When I make no sound of movements, Sandy pauses in her pancake stacking to look at me, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. Not even a second passes before her lips turn to a smile that looks a little too smug for my liking.
Does she know?
Wait. What does she know? Why should I even care if she knows anything? Maybe she's just—
"Arnold?" she asks, her innocent voice dissonant with her smirk. "You okay there, buddy?"
Oh yeah. Somehow I forgot that she is still staring at me. I resist the urge to face-palm. "Yah, I'm okay! More than okay, really! I'm just gonna…uh…" Crap. It's as if someone grabbed onto my throat with the sole purpose of making me look like a stuttering idiot.
"Waking up Helga for me?" Sandy finishes for me, her lips twitching at the corners.
Trying to look natural, I force my head to nod, darting out of her sigh before she can so much as snicker. My heart drops when I realize I must have looked like a deranged robot.
Wake up Helga. Right. A new morning; a new day. Right. Okay. I can do this.
A sense of foreboding permeates through me with a side of nausea. Yes, I know. All I have to do is wake her up. Easy as pie. Except I'm nervous. I guess I no longer can use the early morning as an excuse to avoid the inevitable. I have to think about this now.
So yesterday's realization that I am, in fact, possibly interested in pursuing her is…well, let's be honest here—it's freaking me out! What if this is more than just interest I'm dealing with here? What if what I'm feeling is more than just simple attraction? And not only that, but what if I become…well, attached to her? I mean, the likelihood of her being interested in a weird, football-headed nutcase she knew back in school is pretty small. I mean come on! She's this gorgeous, charismatic, intelligent and successful woman…and I'm just an ancient civilizations nerd with nothing short of facts and dusty appeal to offer. Ugh. What am I thinking? What am I doing?
Stopping a few feet short of her tent, I glance back to see if Sandy's out of eyesight yet. She is. Good. I can't afford to have her see me make a fool of myself. Swallowing down this sudden nausea and apprehension I try to find words...any words…or even just thoughts would be nice.
"Just be normal, Arnold. Just say, 'Hi, Helga'. Yah, that's good." I nod to myself, trying to build confidents. "Just remember, 'Hi, Helga,'" I repeat to myself beginning toward her tent again.
On the way—it's only a few feet but it seems like a thousand miles—I repeat a little mantra under my breath: "Hi, Helga. Hi, Helga. Hi, Helga. Hi, Helga."
But when I reach her tent I stop short. Am I supposed to knock? And if so…what the heck am I supposed to knock on? A flimsy tent is anything but solid and definitely wouldn't sound like anything. Or maybe I should just walk in? But what if she's changing clothes or something? I think I'll just try out the ol' "Hi, Helga" that I've been practicing.
"Hammer time!" I call.
Oooph. What? What even just happened?
Glumly I smack my face into my hand and hope she didn't hear both my ridiculous exclamation and face-palm. Where did that even come from? Why am I such a complete moron?
When no sarcastic and mocking quip reaches my ear, I brush aside the entrance and peek in carefully to see if she's still asleep.
I spot her on her cot, asleep and draped languorously on it. Staring down at her I wrack my brain deciding on the best course of action. If it was anyone else, I'd just say their name and jiggle them awake, but it's Helga Pataki—whom I am apparently feeling some kind of…something for.
Her eyes are closed, long eyelashes soft against her cheeks while golden tendrils of hair cascade around her face and pillow. The soft glow of day outside the tent gives her tanned skin and captivating radiance. The complete tranquility of her face surprises me. Although, I've come to know the more relaxed side of this confident and charismatic adult Helga—like comparing night and day with her school-girl counterpart—it's still a very different sight to see her so completely demure and at peace. Her breath, even and deep, causes her chest to rise and fall softly; no scowl or smirk mars her face; her delicate hand soft and relaxed beneath her cheek. I'm in awe at the beauty of a completely serene Helga Pataki.
Without even a second thought to any potentioal consequences I reach out to brush away a stray strand of hair from her cheek. But what began as an innocent gesture ends with a shrill, ear-piercing scream.
Mine, not hers.
She literally just bit my hand. Pulling back from her in complete horror I can only stare at a groggy-eyed Helga, her sleep-laden eyes glaring daggers at me.
"W-w-what the hell?" I finally gasp, causing a satisfied smirk to spread across her lips.
"Ooh, you're sexy when you swear," she goads, sitting up and brushing that stupid stray strand of hair out of her face. My fingers twitch as I watch her curl it behind her ear.
"Helga! You bit me!" I exclaim, dumbfounded.
She shrugs and stretches casually as if it's nothing out of the ordinary. "Of course, Dr. Shortman. You touched my face."
"I was just trying to wake you up for breakfast and you bit me," I exclaim, feeling slightly betrayed as I look back down to my hand that's now throbbing in pain.
She twists her mouth sideways for a moment and then shrugs again. "I gotta protect myself, don't I?"
I gape at her. "From me? And your first instinct is biting? Who does that?"
"Piranhas," she retorts, rubbing her eyes.
I can only shake my head, still unconvinced. "Yeah, okay. But they're fish!"
"And they're they kings of the sea," she replies, yawning and giving me a sleepy-eyed grin before falling back down onto her cot dramatically.
"Wouldn't sharks be the kings of the sea? Are piranhas even in the sea? I'm pretty sure they are freshwater fish."
"Okay, so you really wanna do this this early, Captain Ahab?" she groans grumpily. "Fact: all water leads to the ocean. Didn't you ever see 'Finding Nemo'?"
I'm definitely annoyed that she bit me, but I also can't help but notice how adorable she is when she's half asleep and her sarcasm game is a bit…skewed. Trying to hide my amused smile, I reply, "yes, but I'm pretty sure the correct quote is 'all drains lead to the ocean.'"
With another deep groan, she slaps her hand to her face. "What? Are you John Ratzenberger now or something?"
"Who?" I ask, feeling confused again.
"John Ratz…you know what?" she interrupts herself. "Forget it. If you don't even know who that is this conversation is over. I'm too tired to explain." Then sitting up again she points a finger at me. "And next time you wake me up…don't touch my face or you might become the archeologist who once had ten fingers."
Throwing the blanket aside she stands up and a small flower falls off her bed and onto the ground. Reaching down I pick up the tiny orange blossom and stare at it thoughtfully. "Is this yours?" I question, handing it to her, a strange heat tensing in my muscles for some reason.
"What? You leaving me flowers while I sleep too?" she asks, eyebrows raised with a sense of impatience.
My heart picks up the pace. Does she know too? Why does everyone seem to know? I hope she doesn't realize how much I am internally panicking as I wave my hands frantically in front of myself and simultaneously shake me head. "No. I didn't leave it." The moment those words escape my lips, I feel hints of regret. Maybe I should have taken credit for it. Would she have been impressed if I left flowers for her while she slept? Then again, she did almost bite my fingers off for moving a piece of hair off her face…so maybe not. "Do you normally sleep with flowers?"
"Har-har," she says, rolling her eyes, amusement flickering across her face. "Where the heck did it come from?"
"Beats me."
"Yah, well, maybe one of Soren's new monkey friends left it for me," she laughs, placing it in her hair by her ear. "Now get out of my tent so I can get dressed," she adds, directing her attention to me once more and crossing her arms against her chest.
All the previous heat travels to my cheeks as I start backing out awkwardly—seriously what is wrong with me?
"Oh, uh, yah, the, uh, pancakes are probably getting cold."
She nods absently with a slightly patronizing expression on her face. Then, of course (because I'm just such a stud), I back up and trip over her suitcase, landing flat on my back.
"Real smooth, Shortman. Knock you off your feet, did I?" Helga asks, stepping closer to me with her long legs.
Embarrassed—and yes—distracted by those legs, I just stare at her like a fool.
"Just go already before I sock you into next week," she threatens, shooing me with her hands.
But still, I'm like some kind of idiot, staring at her…and her legs…and her lips…and her hair…and her blue—
"Are you deaf now too? Go already! Crimeny!" she exclaims, dragging me out of the tent.
And with a dramatic zipping of her tent, she leaves me standing outside her tent, still speechless still a big dope. I heave an annoyed sigh at myself before turning to head back toward the campfire and the probably cold pancakes. Yah, good going, Arnold. You'll woo her in no time.
I rub my cheeks, almost flinching at the heat. It's like they're on fire! I hope the blush is gone before everyone else can see.
"How'd it go?" Sandy asks, placing a plate of pancakes into my hands. Her lips twitch once again, probably taking in my flushed cheeks. I don't know why, but it unnerves me. "Is she coming for breakfast?"
"Yah, I think so," I reply quietly, sitting down trying to be inconspicuous as possible. Maybe she won't press any further. Or better yet, maybe she'll stop looking at me and talking all together and I can go eat my pancakes, alone, in mortified silence.
"Arnold, Arnold!" Sawyer calls, suddenly appearing out of nowhere, almost making me drop my plate of pancakes. "Arnold!"
"Yah, I'm right here, buddy," I state, having slightly recovered from the surprise of his sudden appearance. "What is it?"
"Watch this new yo-yo trick I figured out," he replies. With that he does some really silly and crazy swinging of the yo-yo in an attempt to do a trick. It's honestly the cutest thing I've ever seen.
"Sup, little homies?" a still groggy-eyed Helga greets them, plopping down in the chair next to me. I can almost feel the brush of her arm against mine, and the heat rushes its way back to my face full force. "Be careful with that thing," she remarks, gesturing to the yo-yo in Sawyer's hand. "Wouldn't want to go knocking of some poor jinx's fish, now would we?"
I shoot a glare in her direction. She's referring to the…incident that I didn't want to think about earlier. The unfortunate time one of my yo-yo tricks went awry and landed in the fishbowl of our classmate, Eugene, consequently killing his fishy friend. The disaster that ensued after that—especially when Eugene attempted find a new pet, almost did me in. And that is why I almost quit playing with yo-yos. So yah, I don't appreciate her bringing it up.
Sandy glances between us in perplexity for a moment, but when neither of us respond to enlighten her, she grabs a plate of pancakes instead and joins us at the campfire.
"Hey, Helga, where'd you find that cattleya aurantiaca?" Richard asks, leaning toward her.
"Cattle-antique what?" Helga asks, scrunching up her lethargic eyes in confusion.
"Cattleya aurantiaca," he repeats. "The orange orchid in your hair." He gestures to the little flower above her ear. "It's a flower native to these parts, but I hadn't seen one around yet."
She shoots me a jovial look that says something like "I bet he's the one leaving me flowers." But I shrug and turn back to my pancakes. I'm not in any kind of mood to be playing a game of 'Let's Guess Who Else Has a Crush on Helga'. The thought alone makes my head feel like it's about to explode.
"Eh, I found it on my bed this morning. I guess somebody left it there for me or something," she replies, winking at Richard. He immediately starts to blush and dives right back into his pancakes. I feel like heaving a huge groan of disgust, but instead hold it back.
"Ants love those," Antoinette remarks, eyes narrowed as she gestures toward the flower.
A slight look of panic surfaces on Helga's face and she looks to me with wide eyes. "Are there ants on it?" she whispers.
I shake my head and return to glumly eating my pancakes.
"Speaking of ants," Soren says, sitting down next to his wife. "I was thinking about them this morning."
What? A least I'm not the only one—everyone pauses mid-bite to stare at him. Sandy raises an incredulous eyebrow at him. "You were thinking about…ants? For what purpose, honey?" If I weren't in such a strange mood today, I might have laughed at the demeaning tone of her voice.
Ignoring any of those cues, he continues. "Okay, so you know how ants are super tiny and we hardly even notice them at all?"
"Yes…?" Sandy prompts, her brows scrunched up and an almost cringe-like expression on her face.
"Well, hardly noticeable unless we're talking about the Dinoponera species. Which subsequently live in South America," Richard pipes in.
Soren rolls his eyes as he waves a dismissive hand at Richard. "Psh! I'm talking about normal ants, Rich. Like our American ants. Anyway, so they are tiny and hardly noticeable and they go about their tiny little lives—full of giant obstacles and stuff, with their miniscule little goals, and they probably don't even notice us because we're just so much bigger than them." Soren's brows furrow, in deep concentration.
"Where exactly are you going with this? Is there a point?" Sandy asks, sounding a bit annoyed.
"Just hear me out, okay?" he says, waving her off. He seems to be waving everyone off today. "So they never notice we even exist because we are so much bigger then them until one day they get stepped on and that's the end, right?" Everyone nods in puzzled response. "What if there were creatures so big we were the size of ants to them?" he adds in a staged voice. His eyes dart to and fro, obviously trying to use the art of dramatic pause. The art's lost on him.
Well, I'm definitely speechless. His wife just stares at him as if he's lost his mind, and Helga groggily groans from beside me, dropping her head down onto her chest.
"What?" Sandy asks, her voice faltering with disbelief. It's almost like she's questioning what made her marry him. Or maybe I'm reading too much into it…
"What if there are giants out there—so big that they are powered by nuclear reactions inside of them—that make us look like the size of ants?" Soren repeats again, deadpan.
"No, I got that part. Like you mean there are giants on earth right now that we don't know about?" She's scrunching up her face again in skepticism.
"No! Like in the future," he replies, still completely serious. I'm actually shocked that he's so into this train of thought that he's entirely forgotten about his pancakes. I half except to look up into the sky to see my late pet pig, Abner, flying above us.
"The earth's too small for giants that size," Antoinette comments from across the fire.
Sandy is still just gawking at him. Slowly she starts to shake her head and laugh. "Are you even serious right now? Or are you trying to be funny or something?"
"No. I'm being serious," he states, his face genuine. "Giant aliens and one day they just show up and don't even notice us and we don't notice them. Then they step on us, because to them we're just tiny, insignificant bugs."
"Um, how would we not notice nuclear powered, giant aliens?" I can't help but ask him. "Personally I think I'd notice that."
"First Arnold attacks me and now this acid trip of a theory," Helga mumbles, laying her face into her hand dramatically. "I should just go back to bed…maybe try again later."
"Señora Sandy, your husband está loco!" Eduardo states, shaking his head.
"Soren, what are you even talking about? Are you actually serious right now?" Sandy asks again, the utter confusion and incredulity covering her entire face.
"No really. It's like a humbling thought, you know?" he replies, flicking a huge beetle off the arm of his chair. I almost laugh out loud at the irony.
"Dude, I totally get what you're saying," Richard chimes in, rubbing his chin solemnly. "It's like that Doctor Who episode where the planet's moon was actually the egg of some alien dinosaur, and the planet's inhabitants never even knew. They just went about their life until one day their moon started to crack and then this baby dinosaur comes out and flies away."
Helga jumps up dramatically, her chair falling to the grass beneath us. "Oh my hell! What if our moon is a dinosaur egg?" she exclaims. "Maybe our whole existence is dependent on that and one day we're just all going to die? Or what if the sun's not a sun at all but some hairy Dr. Suess-type creature and when he gets bored of watching us he's going to fly away and we'll be plummeted into darkness forever? And then the nuclear-powered giants will have a hat day smashing us into oblivion."
Oh, geez, Helga too? Everyone gapes at her until Soren clears his voice and then, deadpan, says, "that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."
With what practically sounds like a growl, Helga falls back into her seat, smacking her face into her hand. Soren and Richard return to their discussion of the gravity of our future peril at the hands of nuclear-powered giants.
After breakfast, everyone separated, heading off to their own destinations. Helga went back to her tent complaining about a migraine after Soren's asinine theory, Richard and Antoinette went to collect wood to use for our campfire, Soren took the boys to play, and Eduardo went to take a solitary walk by the river. I chose to stay and help Sandy wash the dishes.
"Soren's watching the boys, right?" she asks me, handing me a plate to dry.
"Yah, I think so. They were all lying around watching an ant hill full of ants a few minutes ago," I reply with a chuckle. "I think Soren said something about not letting any creature, no matter how small, go unnoticed."
"What a weirdo," she laughs in good humor.
With another chuckle I ask, "so was Soren really serious about all that ants and giants talk?"
She pauses thoughtfully for a moment, before returning to the pan she was scrubbing. "I hate to say it, but I think so," she admits, scrunching up her lip slightly. "Honestly, it seems a little out of character. He's usually more…you know…"
"Realistic? Logical?" I finish for her.
"Exactly. That's why I had to keep asking if he was serious. I thought he'd been sniffing lotus blossoms or something," she jokes.
We both burst into laughter, sides aching at Soren's expense.
Catching her breath, she adds, "I kid, of course. Don't tell him I said that or there won't be anymore 'baseball' for me."
"Aw, what a shame," I tease, stacking the plates carefully into a pile.
"Arnold, would you mind running those back into the main tent for me? You know where they go."
I nod and carefully pick up the pile of plates. "No problem. I'll be right back."
As I head toward the main tent—which happens to reside right next to Helga's tent—I can't help but wonder where Helga's gone off to, if she ended up staying in her tent. If she did, it's probably to nap. I've hardly seen her at all today and after yesterday's revelation…well, honestly, I can't decide if I want to see her some more or not. I'm still nervous and overwhelmed. And still feeling extremely inadequate, to be perfectly honest. What would a beautiful, talented, exceptionally interesting woman like her want with a boring, super nerd like me? She's way out of my league.
"Okay, Arnoldo, the jig's up."
Startled by the sudden, unexpected sound of her voice I run smack-dab into a tree, almost breaking every dish in the stack. Why can't I at least not be a humongous klutz when she's around? I mean can't that be the one thing I have going for me? Awesomely smooth and well-balanced? But no, instead I'm the biggest spaz this side of the border. (Eugene the jinx wins the other side of the border.)
"Uh, what?" I ask over her entertained chuckling.
Her shoulder is propped casually against a tree as she watches me. "I said, 'the jig's up'. Doi!" she smirks at me with suspicious, narrowed eyes. "Why do you keep leaving flowers for me? You got a thing for me?" she teases, strutting around me.
I stare at her in both embarrassment and disbelief. How can she already know I'm interested in her? And why does she think I left that flower for her. Because I definitely didn't. Though I kind of wish I had, because it's driving me nutty that someone else is leaving them for her. "I haven't been," I finally say, trying to hide the bitterness and seem as laid-back as possible.
"Sure, sure," she replies, obviously unconvinced. "And I'm not allergic to strawberries. Come here," she orders, gesturing toward her tent.
I follow her like a dejected, little stray dog. Once inside she points to her bed where another flower rests, this time a large yellow one.
"Found that on my bed. And this one…on my camera lens," she adds, holding out her hand where another small pink flower rests.
My cheeks turn pink and now I'm feeling even more embarrassed. If she does think I'm interested…she's obviously not interested in me, which makes my chest clench uncomfortably. "Look, Helga," I say, rather sternly, "it's not me. Maybe you just have a secret admirer," I add, trying to hide the inner cringe at the thought.
"Yah, sure, secret admirer…whatever you say, Arnold."
Her eyes appraise me skeptically. At the realization that I have to be the bigest idiot on earth, I glance away, looking for any excuse to escape the accusation in her eyes. That's what I notice something I hadn't seen this morning.
"Helga…is that a crossbow?"
"Doi! A girl's gotta have some sort of protection against the creepers out there. And also for strange, football-headed secret admirers."
"Ugh." I roll my eyes and rub the back of my neck nervously. "So you chose a crossbow instead of something normal?"
"All the paramount bad-asses use crossbows, why would I pick something lame and common?" she scoffs, picking up the crossbow.
"Wait…your instinct when being woken up is to bite instead of reaching for your crossbow?" I ask, both shocked and then grateful she didn't use it on me.
"Always know your defense strategy, Shortman," she says haughtily. "Step one: render you enemy immobile a.k.a. bite them. Step two: annihilate them by crossbow." She shoots me a broad smile. "Lucky for you, I stopped at step one."
"Yah, I guess so. Eesh. Anyway, I gotta go help Sandy finish dishes. Good luck finding your secret admirer," I reply as we step out of the tent and nearly run headlong into Richard.
Helga wiggles her eyebrows at me and nods at Richard's direction. "Hey, Richard. What's up, Handsome?" she greets him, and I feel myself inwardly cringe. Hopefully, she didn't notice.
With as much dignity I can muster (which isn't much considering the day so far), I make my way back toward Sandy. Entirely bugged that Richard's leaving flowers for Helga. I mean it's gotta be Richard. Wasn't he the one who knew what kind of stupid flower it was anyway? Ugh. But doesn't he have feelings for Antoinette? I feel like I don't even know what real life is anymore. Why? Why? Why?
"Oh, you're already finished," I observe, finally reaching Sandy, who's untying her apron and placing it in a chair by the campfire.
"Yep, thanks for your help, Arnold. I always appreciate it." She gives me a big smile.
I hear the sound of laughter and glance over to where Helga's laughing with a gentle hand on Richard's shoulder. I feel my eyes narrow and a muscle in my jaw clench. Then Sandy taps me gently on the forehead. Turning to her I see her watching me closely. She's a bit of a people observer and can usually read them well too.
"It's all gonna work out," she says. "Don't give up."
"What?" I ask, feeling a little confused. This reminds me of earlier this morning when—no. She can't know.
Her mouth bends in a small smile as she winks. "You know what I mean."
I think my heart just stopped. She knows. She totally knows. But she can't know! No one can know! I hardly know myself!
My eyes move unbidden to the temple on top of the hill. Maybe that's a good place to be at the moment; a place where I can forget about any of this nonsense and get rid of this sudden urge to punch a tree.
And with that she turns toward the river. "I'm going to go find Soren and the boys and see if they want to go on a little walk. Care to join us?"
"No thanks," I call after her. "I think I want to take one more look at the temple."
She waves goodbye and continues down to the river. With one last—slightly jealous—glance over to see Helga still talking to Richard, I turn to the temple and head toward my new destination.
Standing outside the overgrown temple, I pause, just savoring the moment. As fun and enlightening as it was coming here yesterday with Helga, there's something very different about coming by myself and just taking my time to really enjoy the present.
Breathing in the humid air and savoring the fresh scent of nature, I close my eyes and listen. The distant gurgling of the river water, the quiet susurrating of the leaves in the breeze, the high-pitched call of birds and the playful sounds of the tree monkeys greet my senses. So different than the sounds of Egypt, and in many ways, more pleasing to the senses.
Gazing back at the temple, I find myself in awe of such an ancient accomplishment. It must have been quite stunning when it was in its prime. Fierce, weather-beaten jaguar statues guard the outer entrance. Vines twist and twirl around the pillared courtyard, where piles of crumbled and broken stones lie. A structure—which I'm guessing was once a sparkling fountain—still stands in the center, a flowering plant now overflowing from it. Steps lead to the inner entrance, some of the steps cracked from erosion. Large foliage casts shadows over the porticoed peristyle; it's slender, grooved columns also garnished in draping flora.
Once across the small courtyard and onto the steps, I head inside. Colorful birds take flight at my entry, the beats of their wings resonating through the bare main room. Numerous tall, narrow windows line the walls between each painted god; letting in only small slits of light. The ceiling is missing in some places, crumbled from earthquake, rain and age. Plants grow here just as they do outside. My footsteps echo eerily in the cold, empty room. Looking around slowly, I close my eyes and try to imagine what it must have once looked like.
My eyes widen when I hear the sound of a footstep…not my own. I hadn't been the one to move when I heard it. Something else had caused the noise. However, now there is nothing but silence. So much that I can hear my heart and even the faint beat of my pulse quickening in fear. The hair prickles on the back of my neck and the last thing I want to do is turn around. The room suddenly seems darker and more ominous. Shadows drown the room, like liquid, oozing out of the corners, seeping beneath the overgrowth.
Taking a deep breath I spin around.
There's nothing. No one. Just the same empty room as before. Heaving a sigh of relief, I turn back around and head into the darkened hallway Helga and I had ventured yesterday. Rounding the corner to where I had seen a staircase in my daydream, I sigh with disappointment. Nothing. Just the same dead-end as before.
It's cobwebbed and dank—lacking the usual embellishment and ornamentation. Only eight small, raised squares are there decorate the wall in front of me, each one containing the image of one of the gods, as well as their name. I reach out to touch one—
"What the hell are you doing, Indiana?"
Startled, I spin around. Helga's standing there, biting her lip to hide her amusement.
"You-you startled me," I explain lamely. Trying to both act cool and recover a bit from the surprise, I lean against a nearby column. I end up missing it entirely and pretty much side-face planting it instead.
She laughs lightly and pulls me back to my feet. "So, what's got you so jumpy?"
"Nothing," I reply tersely, dusting the cobwebs off my shirt. "I just thought there was a stairway here…"I trail off, gesturing at the blank wall.
"What? Are you crazy?" she exclaims, kind of hovering in my face. Even with her unnecessarily loud voice, I can't help but glance down at her lips. "This is the wall where Soren and Sandy were making out yesterday," she continues. "So you already know there's no stairway. Did you hit your head when you tripped over my luggage today or something? Is that where you came up with your latest harebrained theory?" She stares at me expectantly, and I realize she's waiting for an answer, so I glance back up to her eyes.
"Well, if we consider the layout of most Egyptian temples and assume that this follows a similar architectural style, then there should be a doorway here," I lie, hoping she's not as familiar with Egyptian culture as she is with those of Central and South America. "Instead," I add, "there's just this random dead end."
"Well, I'm aware that these are descendents of Ancient Egyptians…but that seems a little far-fetched, even for you to believe," Helga proclaims, watching me closely.
"Uh-huh," I reply absently, reaching up to touch the name of Ankhresut, feeling it's thinly carved texture beneath my finger.
"Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje, dost thou approve of the door?"
Pulling my hand away from the carved figure I turn toward the door. My vision swims out of focus for just a second before refocusing again. The soft tinkling of beads from my weskhet necklace provides comfort in this recently emptied, forlorn temple.
"Is it as thou wished?" Scribe Khamwazet asks, a nervous frown marring his handsome face. His short black wig frames his face and a beaded weskhet collar and ornate, gold Green-Eye pectoral of the god Ahnepu hang from his neck and broad shoulders. A colorfully embroidered sash is cinched around his waist, holding up his red knee-length kilt. A most striking young man is Khamwazet.
A blush quickly rises to my cheeks as I realize he has noticed my appraisal of him. A small smile of approval appears only in his kohl-lined eyes, his lips still unreadable. If only these weren't such dark times, and things of the heart could be more fully explored.
"Yes, Khamwazet," I speak finally, the words coming out nervously. "It is beautifully done. Better than I had imagined. I thank thee." Anxiously I turn back to the door and away from his handsome face. "Grand Vizier Ptahu-Shepses should be here soon," I state, turning back to him, only to see he has moved closer to me and now stands directly in front of me, his dark green eyes full of determination and something else I can't quite read.
"Ankhesen-Wahje, I—"
"Aw, there ye are," a voice speaks from the end of the hallway, surprising us both. The Grand Vizier approaches us and raise an eyebrow at Khamwazet's close proximity to me. The scribe immediately bows his head and steps away.
"I apologize for my late arrival. The Divine One had some final requests to confer. Has everything been prepared, High Priestess Ankhesen-Wahje?" the vizier asks.
"Of course, Grand Vizier," I reply, bowing as well.
"I believe it is time for you to perform the ritual and blessing," he states, nodding in the direction of the door. "Scribe, you are to witness this as well. The Divine One has decreed it. Proceed, Priestess."
Kneeling down I light a flame and the green incense begins to furl and swirl around us and fills the room with a calming scent. "Hail to thee, Great Green Mother, Mut-Wahje; Queen of Everlastings, the God of Gods, the Governor of Heaven, whose forms are manifold, whose existence is everlasting. Thy son Netur-Wahje hath ascended thy throne, and all life is with him. We beg you to send his spirit to us so that he may aid us in our time of great woe.
"We call upon thee now, our Great Green Father, Netur-Wahje! We call upon you, Lord of the Thrones of Earth; Father and Maker of men and all that is above and below; Lord of Mercy. Spread thyself over us, so that we may be placed among imperishable heavens and never die. Open the way for the people; bless their coming and their going. Open thy way for them and those whom follow thee; and close the way for those who would seek to harm thy people. Close the way for him whose name is hidden. Send us thy son, Ankhresut, that when the time comes that he may deliver us from the Unspoken Evil. Bless him that he may wear the eyes of thy people and know what he must do. Keep him forever in thy protective shadow until the time comes for his ultimate undertaking.
"Protect us from The One Hidden in Shadow. Grant us safety and eternal life. Receive us into Paradise. Comfort us with thy emerald tears, that we may live a million years in the radiance of thy love. May we ever walk in truth and balance that our hearts may be found pure upon the scale. Then shall we live forever in The Paradise of the Sun."
I bend down, my forehead to the ground in homage. Silence churns around us until the last of the incense dissipates. I rise and stand before the great door—our only barrier against The Great Evil.
"Matur-Wahje, Netur- Wahjet," I begin, pushing each square stone with the corresponding god. "Ankhresut, Binukhet, Ankhresut," I finish, wholly locking in the evil once and for all.
"Arnold."
"It is done, Priestess. I shall leave to report directly to the king," the grand vizier states as we each bow to him before he turns on his heel to leave.
"Binukhet is no more," Khamwazet whispers from beside me, a kind of reverent-awe in his voice.
"Shh! Do not speak his name!" I cry, putting a hand to his lips to stop the cursed name from leaving his lips again. "Thou art foolish! Do not give him anymore power then what he has left."
He grabs my wrist lightly pulling me to him. "I apologize, High Priestess," he says softly, his nose only inches away from mine and his eyes stormy and intense. Pulling away quickly he bows deeply. "Homage to thee, O Natu-Wahje. Forgive thy imprudent servant," he prays.
"Arnold, can you hear me?"
"If The One Hidden in Shadow had become seer as was his intention, what would have happened? Thou knowest, High Priestess, I know thou does," he accuses, dark green eyes narrowed at me.
"It could not have happened," I explain. "He was blinded by his hatred and lust for power. In that he forgot it was impossible. Only he of pure heart and true voice can speak with The Akhieb. From everything we know about the gods and the coming of…The Shadowed One, we know there is no way he could have succeeded."
He frowns slightly and glances around us, with caution in his eyes. "But at times like these doesn't it feel as though the gods have forsaken us?"
I shake my head. My confidence in the gods can never be shaken. My parents rightly named me Ankhesen-Wahje: her life is of the Green Gods. "The Shadowed one is no more," I tell him. "How have they forsaken us?"
"Thee and I both know the prophecy, My Priestess," he says in a low voice as he places his hand on my cheek. "He will come again. Despite all this—" he gestures to the locked burial chamber door—"he will come again and ravage our children."
"Hello? Arnold?"
"The prophecy does not state that," I respond, narrowing my eyes at him. "It only tells us that he shall come again."
He shakes his head sadly, dropping his hand from my face. "If he almost destroyed us once…I'm sure he can find a way to do so again—perhaps even succeed this time."
I stare into his eyes, into the fear and apprehension. "Have faith," I reply, pleading with him with both my words and my eyes. "Ankhresut will save us. He is the blessing the gods shall send."
He glances down and laces his hands with mine for a moment before looking up to meet my eyes once more. "I pray thou art right, my priestess. May the gods have mercy on us, their people."
"Arnold?"
Who is that? They keep interrupting my conversation. It's getting really frustrating. Each time this voice speaks that strange name it's like a painful string running through my mind, pulling me toward it. The more it pulls the darker and foggier my thoughts get…like swirling incense, so thick it blocks my view and clouds my mind.
"Arnold!"
There it is again—fervent and serious. Why do they sound so worried?
"Arnold!"
Each time I hear it, the haze lessens. Through the darkness I can see a faint light, growing in size very gradually. And eventually a silhouette appears, framed in dazzling golden light. Who is that? She's beautiful…like the goddess Merutayeh—with her golden halo of hair and bright blue eyes…
"Arnold, are you okay? Please, answer me!"
"Arnold?" I repeat, the word feeling familiar on my tongue. Something soft touches my forehead and then my cheek. I'm looking but I can't see clearly. Just that beautiful face, staring into my eyes. "Who art thou?"
"Arnold, wake up!"
I blink once more and realize that I'm Arnold and it's Helga who's panicked face is peering into mine. I look around at my surroundings frantically—I'm back in the temple, standing with Helga in front of the door.
The door! I spin around and gaze at the faded carvings carefully. "What was the order?" I mumble to myself.
"Arnold, stop! Listen!" Helga's saying, trying to get my attention.
Ignoring her, I place my hand onto each square in the order I had envisioned the priestess doing it. "Matur-Wahje, Netur- Wahje—"
"Arnold, stop!" Helga yells, grabbing my shoulder and forcing me around to face her. I close my eyes in frustration trying to repeat the order in my mind so I won't forget. Matur-Wahje, Netur- Wahje—
"Okay, what's going on?" she asks me, a hand on each hip and a "no-nonsense" expression on her face.
I sigh in frustration. "What are you talking about?"
"Your 'special daydreams'," she replies mockingly, highlighting the last word with the infamous Mr. Simmons finger quotes.
I ignore her claims. "Helga, you know me. I've always got my head in the clouds."
"Arnold, that wasn't any normal daydream," she accuses. "Your pupils dilated again, and your mouth was moving silently at first, and then you were saying all kinds of gibberish. It was like another language You and I both know there's something going on here and you're not telling me."
"Sorry…uh…I guess I should have warned you," I reply lamely.
"Warned me? About what?"
"Well, I was busy analyzing the carved pictures here…and uh, I sometimes get so caught up in thought I don't hear people talking to me." The lie flows out of my mouth with more ease then I would have originally expected. I must be getting better. I can only hope I'm getting more efficient. "So now you know, I guess. Sorry again."
"Uh-huh. Sure," she says, obviously not believing my bogus answer, but deciding not to push the issue anymore for now. Instead, she just glares at me, her strong eyebrows creased.
With that, I pivot back to the door and push the final squares. "Ankhresut, Binukhet, Ankhresut."
A deep, grumbling sound begins echoing through the temple. Small stones jiggle in their spots on the wall, some of them falling down around us. Helga's eyes grow even larger than usual as she gawks at me. A ground-shaking groaning and grinding starts as well, and the wall in front of me begins to slowly slide toward me, opening…like a door.
Just as suddenly as all the noise began, it stops, leaving us with only silence and a gaping doorway. Darkness, stale air, and dust billow out of the opening as I take a few steps back closer to Helga…away from the yawning blackness, holding who-knows-what inside of it.
"How the hell did you know to do that, Arnold?" Helga breathes from beside me, her hand finding its way around my arm, where it fearfully grips me—nails biting into my flesh.
"Harrison Ford taught me well. 'Fortune and glory, kid. Fortune and glory,'" I quip, trying to calm the sudden uneasiness and impulse to leave.
"As adorable as it is that you can quote Indiana Jones, I'm not buying it," she whispers, as our eyes adjust to the dark entryway, the dust finally settling. "Stairs," she murmurs. "How did you know?" She turns to me, our noses only inches away, our gaze meeting each other in the darkening temple.
Would this be a bad time to kiss her?
Arnold, duh! Of course it would be! What is wrong with me?
Without answering her I spot something on the wall next to the door—something that had been covered by cobwebs until the air escaping from the opening door blown them away.
"Ey! Pah wa eymen meh chenew Shutyeh pah eymehut," I read out loud, the words bouncing around the room with a looming echo. "Wedja nellerew khaheleb hur zah na."
"What?" she asks. Her attempt to sound more annoyed and less frightened fails miserably. It's getting more difficult to fight against my impulse to hold her closer, to offer her some sort of comfort.
"The words there," I reply, finally managing to get myself to pull my arm from her grasp so I can move closer and wipe away the dust and make sure I read it correctly.
"All it sounds like is a bunch of gibberish," she replies in frustration.
"It's the Green-Eye language, Helga," I chide, turning to glare at her.
"Well, doi! But how am I supposed to know what you just said? Sounds like a bunch of mumbo jumbo to me." She crosses her arms angrily across her chest. "Are you going to translate it for me or not?"
Attempting to suppress a shiver at the sudden chill running through my veins, I rub the back of my neck as I finish translating the words in my mind. I glance down the hall to the main room where the shadows seem to be growing thicker and darker by the second causing the daylight outside to appear as if it's fading. Swallowing the lump of fear in my throat I take a deep breath.
"O! The One Hidden in Shadow Lies in the Netherworld.
This door shall remain sealed eternally, to keep The Evil within.
Beware any who try to open, or it shall be thy doom.
If the seal be broken, may the gods have mercy upon all mankind."
I peer into the shadows, not realizing I've taken a step closer to the stairway until I hear the sound of my footstep reverberating down the hall. There's a heavy sense of foreboding, but at the same time a strong curiosity pulling me down. Is it the burial chamber from my daydreams? And if so what evil could possibly be inside? Wow, all of those ancient beliefs about the gods and evil…it's making my mind whirl, and I've never been the superstitious sort. At least, not since I was a kid. But that's all it is: superstition, ancient interpretations of things we know to be science.
Right?
"Arnold?" Helga says softly in my ear, now a lot closer to me. She must have taken a step forward as well.
"Yes, Helga?"
"Remember back in the day when we were kids and you used to be superstitious and believe in the possibility of everything?" she says, wrapping her arm around mine again and peering down into the deep, darkness.
"Yah?"
"I'm glad you're over that phase…" she breathes, her voice trailing off for a moment. "Otherwise, I'd be really freaked out right now."
"Yah…" I reply. "Me too." Regaining my wits about me, I turn to her with an impish smile. "Ladies first?"
She shakes her head with a small smirk, but the apprehension still quivers in her eyes. "Haha, nice try. It's your discovery…lead the way."
I nod. This could be my chance to prove to Helga I'm not just a silly, daydreaming nerd. A chance to prove I'm something more. Someone who doesn't go running from an ancient evil. Someone who takes a risk, takes the opportunity for adventure and grabs it.
Unless I'm about to be all wrong and this is literally the stupidest thing I've ever done.
Lacing my hand with hers, I step down onto the first step.
A/N:
Whew! That took forever to write! So thanks for the patience! I'm gonna try to finish the next one sooner then a month this time.
One question I've been wondering is…who is your favorite OC and why? Just curious. I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours! ;-)
Shout out to AibouFTW because she's my amazing, stupendous beta and I love her to bits! And you guys HAVE to check out her story she published his month "Yes, No, Maybe". It has literally become my current favorite one-shot, hands down! It's perfect fluffy goodness!
So a little tidbit. I was working on this story, and getting all kinds of ideas and one day I was like…"Man, I really want Helga to have a crossbow in this fic…but that's probably too random for a modern fic." And so I sadly decided against it. And then literally a few days later, the fabulous artist Mony posted an amazing picture of Arnold and Helga—and Helga has a crossbow! It's awesome, seriously, go check it out. Anyway, I was like oh my gosh this is so perfect…then I kept reading and she said that the head-canon she has now for Arnold and Helga was inspired by this fic…so after I finished fangirling and freaking out because I actually inspired someone to create such utter awesomeness, I was like "Okay, that proves that Helga CAN have a crossbow in this fic and it's totally believable." And thus, thanks to Mony, I was able to have my crossbow for Helga! Yay!
Another tidbit I learned while researching for this fic: there's actually a wiki-how about how to safely swim with piranhas. Who knew, right?
And last tidbit for anyone still reading this silly author's note…the scene where Sawyer and Ramses are simultaneously wrestling and spitting water at each other, was literally happening while I wrote that. And my husband actually came to me one night with the ant theory...I thought he was joking the entire time, but no...he was dead serious. And I laughed and laughed and laughed. …So needless to say "art imitates life", amiright?
Anyway, please review! You reviews are my life…I wouldn't have made it this far without them! Thank you!
Love,
Arnold's Love