I am not making any money with this. I do not own Lara Croft, Tomb Raider
etc.
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.
===================================== Tomb Raider: The Sadhana by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi) =====================================
Chapter Five
After two more days in the monastery, I left to seek the Sadhana on my own. I felt being set-up. Some unknown force, it seemed, had called me to Tokakeriby, to hear that my fate was to walk eight hundred miles to perhaps a certain death just, so it seemed, for the sheer fun of it.
It was a matter of trust. I had to trust someone who wasn't even there. Lama Dorje.
He and the other monks joined me in the beginning of my journey, but just for a short distance. They walked with me to the end of the valley, and gave me a map where canyons, valley and bridges suitable for walking were located. It still hadn't snowed more, but the ground was frozen and slippery.
On my journey years ago I had climbed over many lesser mountains, this time I would have a map with me to lead me along rivers and canyons. It still, luckily, wasn't full winter. The walk would take me approximately eight or nine days. I had food to match ten days. After that - how would I get back? What would I eat? Wasn't the Sadhana's temple or whatever supposed to be in the middle of nowhere? It was if I smelled something burning in the plot. Still, I couldn't help feeling relieved. No more socializing attempts with the monks, I was on my own, with noone to do things for me, noone to be responsible for, noone to blame for the mistakes I make.
The first canyon following Darchen valley had been saved from snow. A river slowly made its way towards the end of it - I followed the river. It was clear - rushing down from somewhere up in the hills. Erosion had carved the riverbank hills into something resembling the landscape of the moon. It was like a forest sculptures from porous rock. The larger poles of rock would form a lovely climbing terrain. Perhaps I would try them out sometime.
Another canyon followed in five hours. The sun was setting, and I decided to keep hiking until only the highest peaks would be lit by sunlight. This valley was dark-brown and dismal. Deep, lined by mountains the same colour as the sand, it looked very desolate and sad. I wouldn't have wanted to camp there but I didn't seem to have any choice - the sun was setting. A lonely bird - seemingly a vulture, circled over the brown valley in lazy circles, as if guarding my putting up of the tent. I unpacked it, laid the metal batten on the ground and inspected the seals in case of rips. Everything seemed to be in condition, so I took to digging holes for the battens. I used my knife to that, feeling very sorry for the blade. After digging the holes I hit the batten in - hurting my finger to a sharp edge in one of them. I sucked my finger so that the flowing of blood would stop, and wondered, following the ever-circling bird with my gaze, if it could smell the blood. How accurate would its smell be, when the sole purpose of its existence was to discover food.
I finished my tent by the time it had become completely dark. I lit a fire - no worries about forest fires, it was cold enough - made some soup, and enjoyed my lonely meal, twisting myself deeper to the soft layers of fabric of my jacket. I had kept the bomber jacket as a memento from a flight that had been, to say, eventful. I had crashed, once again, in Tibet. Hopefully not too far away from my destination - the Barkhang Monastery.
After my meal I slipped into my sleeping bag. Sleep never comes easy on the first night alone. I'm always far too alert, listening to everything, with one finger on the safety clip of my gun all the time. I enjoy the rush of adrenaline an unidentified sound awakes in me. A distant relative of mine once questioned me about my line of work and asked if I was ever terrified, camping somewhere alone. I said I got scared sometimes, but he wouldn't accept it. He had meant terrified, and that's what he wanted to get fished out of me. I said that scared is okay, it helps you stay alive. Terrified turns you into a pillar of salt. I know I could get terrified, but fear is the only emotion in me I seem to be good at controlling. Fear makes me angry, and that's bloody useful, I told my companion in conversation, but he insisted that surely I sometimes got really frightened? I laughed and said no. Then he made his point by saying that one could see almost anything in desolate places, like UFOs or spirits. It sounded ridiculous. Spirits can wonder this Earth as much as they like to please themselves, but if they come across my path my wrath will be immediate. UFOs? I'll tell him whether I got scared or not when I see one.
I have my guns and that's enough for now. If I die in the line of duty, I will at least die in the hands of something greater than me. It will be an honorable death.
Thank God I didn't die when pitted against Seth. That would have been a shameful death. The poor chap hardly had any brains at all.
Sleep overcame me eventually.
Hours later, something startled me awake. A nise of some sorts. When sleeping alone, I'm very sensitive to any kind of unexplained noise. My hands struggled free from the sleeping bag and grabbed my pistol. I carefully and quietly unfastened the safety clip, and crept completely out of my bag. I heard the noise again. It was a combination of an animal yelp and the sound of heavy, dragging steps. I zipped open the tent and almost leapt outside. I clicked on my flashlight and pointed it out to the night. It was cloudy so the darkness felt overwhelming. Wherever I pointed, the only thing I saw was grey, endless, ice-covered sand. I did not want to leave my tent, so I just stood and waited. Things and noises like that don't make me particularly frightened, quite the contrary. They're interesting, unless sthey become something of a threat to my life. Like an oviraptor, despite how little.
Suddenly I heard footsteps somewhere further away. The realization that the strange creature was very much of human origin made it less interesting and a tad bit more annoying. I didn't leave the tent. The footsteps continued but didn't come any closer. I heard as if someone was panting, and then the clattering of metal bars. Sounded like someone putting up a tent. I suffocated a yawn. If someone wanted to put up a tent near mine, they'd be welcome to do that. I had my guns ready for assassins.
And campers. When it came to that. I heard nothing more. Whoever had it been, he had obviously no intention of approaching me in the near future. The opposite really - he was obviously trying to keep very quiet. And robbers don't usually put up tents near yours. I went back to my tent and got swept away by sleep again.
According to the map it was the rope bridge of Zangla. Hanging low above the raging, muddy Sangpo river. It looked wobbly - all rope bridges do - and as if it could rattled down to the river any minute. On the other side laid a very low mountain range called The Nangchen which I would have to cross.
I had serious doubts about the bridge. Loose ends of rope hang down from it, and it sway violently in the raw wind. I took of my heavy backpack, and took a step on the bridge to test it. It felt steady enough, but I didn't want to take any changes. I took a climbing hook and kept it open with a branch I found on the ground. I strapped on my backpack, and, keeping the hook in a position that it would attach to the bridge if I, or the bridge, was to collapse to the fastly flowing river. I took careful steps, as the bridge was in movement all the time. In the middle I stopped, and inured myself by looking down to the depths of the river. Time to time, large whirls appeared on the surface. They would easily pull cattle - perhaps even humans, to the bottom of the river. Canyon rivers tend to be deep. I forced away an excited shudder, and continued to the end of the long bridge.
Clouds spotted the sky. I continued towards Mount Kailash.
Two days later, about six in the evening, I reached a narrow valley, that was low enough from the sea level for it to nurture trees. A few low pines formed a tiny forest in the valley, making it look like a safe place for animals. There are some even subtropical vellays in Tibet, but I've yet to come across one. Seems like Tibet only wants me to see it's remorseful face, the one that's during daytime burned by the sun, and at night illuminated by the incredibly cold-looking Moon. I made a camp under the pines, and just sat on a rock, just resting my feet and mind. Far away, near a canyon, was a large greyish spot that remotely looked like a village. It wasn't on the map, but the map did look quite old, so it could've been built almost recently. I wouldn't go and see what the spot was, it would cause an extra day's hike. My route would continued following low mountains, lakes, canyons and valleys. As my journey advanced, I started thinking more and more about my route in 1989, the year of the plane crash. It almost seemed as if I had walked a straight line from mount Kailash to Tokakeriby. It felt ridiculous to believe that I had been lead by some unidentified power, but still I wondered about my route. What if there was some kind of a power, a protecting spirit of some sorts, to guide worthy individuals to safety? I almost laughed at my sentimentality. Coincidences happen, not miracles. I decided to go for a wash-up in a nearby stream before it once again got dark.
The water was awfully cold, but by biting my teeth, I even managed to wash my hair. Drying it in the pleasantly warm valley air with a towel, I slowly returned to my campsite. As I approached my tent I got a sudden feeling that not everything was right. I draped the towel across my shoulder, and unfastened my holster clips.
I was certain I had zipped closed the tent door, but now the thick plastic door was flapping in the wind. Perhaps an animal?
I snuck closer. No movement, no sounds, nothing at all. What had been there probably had disappeared. When I was certain enough that the possible intruders were gone, I entered my tent. The sight made me gasp in horror. Half of my food was gone. I got out of the tent and just stood for awhile, trying to clear my head. It couldn't have been an animal - animals can't use zippers. Nor can animals search backpacks and put everything they take out but not take with them in an almost neat pile on someone's backpack.
I listed the damage. My rope was gone - so was my swiss army knife. At least whoever had been to my tent had left my sleeping bag alone.
The biggest catastrophy was the food. I came out of the tent, and used my hand as a sunshade as I tried to gaze towards the spot on the other side of the valley. A thin wisp of smoke floated upwards from it. So it indeed was a village.
Bloody clever. Sneaking up on people. I thought about pulling my pistols, walking to the village despite how long it would take, and practice my target shooting on the bottoms of some sherpas.
I inhaled deeply, and snapped close the press-studs of the holsters. That kind of action wouldn't be a very smart move.
My situation was grim - I had food for one day, I was at least 600 miles away from Tokakeriby. I had my map, but I still had a decision to make. I could either go to the village and plead for help, or I could try to find the Sadhana and starve on the way if necessary. I cursed under my breath and kicked a rock. I kicked it again. And a couple times more, until I slumped on my knees in a sudden attack of something that almost seemed like despair - what was I going to do? Give up and ask for help, or fight until I'd win or lose. I had just returned from a very difficult trip to Egypt. I was presumed dead. I had things to take care of home. I was again, almost penniless, as saving the world doesn't pay much about nothing, and I had no family.
You know me. Guess which alternative I chose.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
As always, comments and reviews would be much appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
siirma6@surfeu.fi
Only to be archived at Fanfiction.net and 'Lara Croft's Tales of Beauty and Power'. All other sites email me first to gain permission.
===================================== Tomb Raider: The Sadhana by Heidi Ahlmen (siirma6@surfeu.fi) =====================================
Chapter Five
After two more days in the monastery, I left to seek the Sadhana on my own. I felt being set-up. Some unknown force, it seemed, had called me to Tokakeriby, to hear that my fate was to walk eight hundred miles to perhaps a certain death just, so it seemed, for the sheer fun of it.
It was a matter of trust. I had to trust someone who wasn't even there. Lama Dorje.
He and the other monks joined me in the beginning of my journey, but just for a short distance. They walked with me to the end of the valley, and gave me a map where canyons, valley and bridges suitable for walking were located. It still hadn't snowed more, but the ground was frozen and slippery.
On my journey years ago I had climbed over many lesser mountains, this time I would have a map with me to lead me along rivers and canyons. It still, luckily, wasn't full winter. The walk would take me approximately eight or nine days. I had food to match ten days. After that - how would I get back? What would I eat? Wasn't the Sadhana's temple or whatever supposed to be in the middle of nowhere? It was if I smelled something burning in the plot. Still, I couldn't help feeling relieved. No more socializing attempts with the monks, I was on my own, with noone to do things for me, noone to be responsible for, noone to blame for the mistakes I make.
The first canyon following Darchen valley had been saved from snow. A river slowly made its way towards the end of it - I followed the river. It was clear - rushing down from somewhere up in the hills. Erosion had carved the riverbank hills into something resembling the landscape of the moon. It was like a forest sculptures from porous rock. The larger poles of rock would form a lovely climbing terrain. Perhaps I would try them out sometime.
Another canyon followed in five hours. The sun was setting, and I decided to keep hiking until only the highest peaks would be lit by sunlight. This valley was dark-brown and dismal. Deep, lined by mountains the same colour as the sand, it looked very desolate and sad. I wouldn't have wanted to camp there but I didn't seem to have any choice - the sun was setting. A lonely bird - seemingly a vulture, circled over the brown valley in lazy circles, as if guarding my putting up of the tent. I unpacked it, laid the metal batten on the ground and inspected the seals in case of rips. Everything seemed to be in condition, so I took to digging holes for the battens. I used my knife to that, feeling very sorry for the blade. After digging the holes I hit the batten in - hurting my finger to a sharp edge in one of them. I sucked my finger so that the flowing of blood would stop, and wondered, following the ever-circling bird with my gaze, if it could smell the blood. How accurate would its smell be, when the sole purpose of its existence was to discover food.
I finished my tent by the time it had become completely dark. I lit a fire - no worries about forest fires, it was cold enough - made some soup, and enjoyed my lonely meal, twisting myself deeper to the soft layers of fabric of my jacket. I had kept the bomber jacket as a memento from a flight that had been, to say, eventful. I had crashed, once again, in Tibet. Hopefully not too far away from my destination - the Barkhang Monastery.
After my meal I slipped into my sleeping bag. Sleep never comes easy on the first night alone. I'm always far too alert, listening to everything, with one finger on the safety clip of my gun all the time. I enjoy the rush of adrenaline an unidentified sound awakes in me. A distant relative of mine once questioned me about my line of work and asked if I was ever terrified, camping somewhere alone. I said I got scared sometimes, but he wouldn't accept it. He had meant terrified, and that's what he wanted to get fished out of me. I said that scared is okay, it helps you stay alive. Terrified turns you into a pillar of salt. I know I could get terrified, but fear is the only emotion in me I seem to be good at controlling. Fear makes me angry, and that's bloody useful, I told my companion in conversation, but he insisted that surely I sometimes got really frightened? I laughed and said no. Then he made his point by saying that one could see almost anything in desolate places, like UFOs or spirits. It sounded ridiculous. Spirits can wonder this Earth as much as they like to please themselves, but if they come across my path my wrath will be immediate. UFOs? I'll tell him whether I got scared or not when I see one.
I have my guns and that's enough for now. If I die in the line of duty, I will at least die in the hands of something greater than me. It will be an honorable death.
Thank God I didn't die when pitted against Seth. That would have been a shameful death. The poor chap hardly had any brains at all.
Sleep overcame me eventually.
Hours later, something startled me awake. A nise of some sorts. When sleeping alone, I'm very sensitive to any kind of unexplained noise. My hands struggled free from the sleeping bag and grabbed my pistol. I carefully and quietly unfastened the safety clip, and crept completely out of my bag. I heard the noise again. It was a combination of an animal yelp and the sound of heavy, dragging steps. I zipped open the tent and almost leapt outside. I clicked on my flashlight and pointed it out to the night. It was cloudy so the darkness felt overwhelming. Wherever I pointed, the only thing I saw was grey, endless, ice-covered sand. I did not want to leave my tent, so I just stood and waited. Things and noises like that don't make me particularly frightened, quite the contrary. They're interesting, unless sthey become something of a threat to my life. Like an oviraptor, despite how little.
Suddenly I heard footsteps somewhere further away. The realization that the strange creature was very much of human origin made it less interesting and a tad bit more annoying. I didn't leave the tent. The footsteps continued but didn't come any closer. I heard as if someone was panting, and then the clattering of metal bars. Sounded like someone putting up a tent. I suffocated a yawn. If someone wanted to put up a tent near mine, they'd be welcome to do that. I had my guns ready for assassins.
And campers. When it came to that. I heard nothing more. Whoever had it been, he had obviously no intention of approaching me in the near future. The opposite really - he was obviously trying to keep very quiet. And robbers don't usually put up tents near yours. I went back to my tent and got swept away by sleep again.
According to the map it was the rope bridge of Zangla. Hanging low above the raging, muddy Sangpo river. It looked wobbly - all rope bridges do - and as if it could rattled down to the river any minute. On the other side laid a very low mountain range called The Nangchen which I would have to cross.
I had serious doubts about the bridge. Loose ends of rope hang down from it, and it sway violently in the raw wind. I took of my heavy backpack, and took a step on the bridge to test it. It felt steady enough, but I didn't want to take any changes. I took a climbing hook and kept it open with a branch I found on the ground. I strapped on my backpack, and, keeping the hook in a position that it would attach to the bridge if I, or the bridge, was to collapse to the fastly flowing river. I took careful steps, as the bridge was in movement all the time. In the middle I stopped, and inured myself by looking down to the depths of the river. Time to time, large whirls appeared on the surface. They would easily pull cattle - perhaps even humans, to the bottom of the river. Canyon rivers tend to be deep. I forced away an excited shudder, and continued to the end of the long bridge.
Clouds spotted the sky. I continued towards Mount Kailash.
Two days later, about six in the evening, I reached a narrow valley, that was low enough from the sea level for it to nurture trees. A few low pines formed a tiny forest in the valley, making it look like a safe place for animals. There are some even subtropical vellays in Tibet, but I've yet to come across one. Seems like Tibet only wants me to see it's remorseful face, the one that's during daytime burned by the sun, and at night illuminated by the incredibly cold-looking Moon. I made a camp under the pines, and just sat on a rock, just resting my feet and mind. Far away, near a canyon, was a large greyish spot that remotely looked like a village. It wasn't on the map, but the map did look quite old, so it could've been built almost recently. I wouldn't go and see what the spot was, it would cause an extra day's hike. My route would continued following low mountains, lakes, canyons and valleys. As my journey advanced, I started thinking more and more about my route in 1989, the year of the plane crash. It almost seemed as if I had walked a straight line from mount Kailash to Tokakeriby. It felt ridiculous to believe that I had been lead by some unidentified power, but still I wondered about my route. What if there was some kind of a power, a protecting spirit of some sorts, to guide worthy individuals to safety? I almost laughed at my sentimentality. Coincidences happen, not miracles. I decided to go for a wash-up in a nearby stream before it once again got dark.
The water was awfully cold, but by biting my teeth, I even managed to wash my hair. Drying it in the pleasantly warm valley air with a towel, I slowly returned to my campsite. As I approached my tent I got a sudden feeling that not everything was right. I draped the towel across my shoulder, and unfastened my holster clips.
I was certain I had zipped closed the tent door, but now the thick plastic door was flapping in the wind. Perhaps an animal?
I snuck closer. No movement, no sounds, nothing at all. What had been there probably had disappeared. When I was certain enough that the possible intruders were gone, I entered my tent. The sight made me gasp in horror. Half of my food was gone. I got out of the tent and just stood for awhile, trying to clear my head. It couldn't have been an animal - animals can't use zippers. Nor can animals search backpacks and put everything they take out but not take with them in an almost neat pile on someone's backpack.
I listed the damage. My rope was gone - so was my swiss army knife. At least whoever had been to my tent had left my sleeping bag alone.
The biggest catastrophy was the food. I came out of the tent, and used my hand as a sunshade as I tried to gaze towards the spot on the other side of the valley. A thin wisp of smoke floated upwards from it. So it indeed was a village.
Bloody clever. Sneaking up on people. I thought about pulling my pistols, walking to the village despite how long it would take, and practice my target shooting on the bottoms of some sherpas.
I inhaled deeply, and snapped close the press-studs of the holsters. That kind of action wouldn't be a very smart move.
My situation was grim - I had food for one day, I was at least 600 miles away from Tokakeriby. I had my map, but I still had a decision to make. I could either go to the village and plead for help, or I could try to find the Sadhana and starve on the way if necessary. I cursed under my breath and kicked a rock. I kicked it again. And a couple times more, until I slumped on my knees in a sudden attack of something that almost seemed like despair - what was I going to do? Give up and ask for help, or fight until I'd win or lose. I had just returned from a very difficult trip to Egypt. I was presumed dead. I had things to take care of home. I was again, almost penniless, as saving the world doesn't pay much about nothing, and I had no family.
You know me. Guess which alternative I chose.
-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~
As always, comments and reviews would be much appreciated - they're the fuel that feeds this creative furnace.
siirma6@surfeu.fi