Lara Croft in the Search for Xanadu
By
Neil Stokes
stokesneil@yahoo.es
This story contains some violence and bad language.
Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.
Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.
* * * *
Chapter 14: Game Over
Lara awoke to the clashing cymbals of panic. Shooting erect in the bed, a scream dredged from her horror-filled heart stuck in her burning throat, leaving her gagging on silence as a cool hand, briefly pressed against her forehead, lowered her back to the pillows. Gentle murmuring she did not understand wove itself into the substance of her dream - the blood splashing over the orb - and guided her into the bright sunlight of the present. She turned her head noting the pain grating in her neck and looked at the man sitting at the bedside. A shaven head, shining eyes behind slanted lids, a placid smile, the compact oriental body swathed in orange robes; the monk spoke, answering the questions in her distressed look: "Well," he affirmed, "well," and for one moment Lara felt a tingling sense of peace before the brutal truth returned and wrung tears from her eyes. "Dead," she mouthed, her damaged throat unable to vocalise the words, "Angela's dead." Although barely intelligible the monk seemed to understand and shaking his head whispered: "No. Nothing die. Only change." Through the weakness that suddenly flooded her body Lara managed a nod before her eyes closed and she receded into a quiet peaceful sleep.
Over the next few days Lara slipped between sleeping and waking, hounded between the horror of her dreams and the even worse horror of reality, sometimes the two mixing in an unbearable cocktail of pain until eventually the fever burnt itself out. This time she awoke into the bright sunlight of the clean modest cell feeling weak and depressed but very much alive. Looking around at the bare whitewashed walls and the few sticks of functional furniture she saw that she was alone. She sat up in the bed, wincing at a flash of pain in her throat that she discovered was bandaged and which began to throb mercilessly - she knew without trying that she could not speak. With the regularity of a precise mechanism the images of Angela's death began to replay in her mind but without the convincing horror of her fevered dreams. Nevertheless the tears came in a quiet stream as she sobbed silently into the bedclothes.
A monk, the same she had seen that first day of her fever, came into the room with a look of delighted surprise on seeing her sitting up; the same placid smile she remembered. He approached the bed, taking a seat beside her. "You well?" he asked. Lara nodded as she wiped away the last of her tears. "You want eat?" he said offering Lara a small bowl containing a variety of porridge. Lara took the bowl, at first merely to please him but after she had painfully swallowed a mouthful, hunger asserted itself and she ate the rest greedily while the monk spoke to her in his disjointed English: "I am Kim. You very bad condition when we find you." He went on to tell her how two of their number, returning to this remote community had come across her hanging half dead from the giant hand of a jade statue, her own hands still grasping a long knife that was buried in the figure's chest. They had been forced to shatter the statue's hand with chisels to free her before bringing her here to their monastery, where she had spent the last few days in the grip of a fever. Kim, speaking some English from a stay in Britain, had been assigned to look after her when they had discovered her passport. He now took the empty bowl. "I tell more later. Now you sleep." She watched his robed figure turn and silently leave the cell. As he did so, his words came to the forefront of her mind: Nothing die. Only change.
Two days later she took a walk with Kim outside. Feeling quite fit; apart from her crushed throat, her other wounds were superficial. A cool breeze sweeping the grasslands, spread out beyond the garden where they walked, refreshed her, returning her strength. Kim told her of her illness, the monastery and himself, Lara encouraging him with gestures, using his quiet words as a mental shield to keep the horrors of her memory at bay. They came across other monks, working or strolling in the gardens, but while they were polite and friendly they kept their distance from her so that by the time night came with an enormous golden sun sinking rapidly below the horizon, she found herself alone with her protector. Turning to him in the failing light she made him understand the urgency she felt to be gone, despite her gratitude to him and his companions. "Not yet," he replied with a smile. "You still no strong. You stay here more and grow." Smarting with guilt at her subterfuge, she led him onto describing, purely for interest's sake, where they had found her. Unsuspecting and relieved to change the topic Kim repeated the story of her discovery, adding the geographical details she gently but persistently demanded until the sun was gone and he escorted her back to her cell, where she made him promise to show her the temple the next day.
Kim arrived the next morning soon after the sun had reclaimed its dominance, eager to reveal to Lara the gilded treasures of his monastery. As he stepped into her room his placid smile faded on seeing the bed empty and Lara's clothes and equipment missing. Then something caught his eye and bending he picked up the sheet of paper lying on the bedside table:
Dear Kim,
I am so sorry for running away like this. Please, please forgive me. Your beautiful monastery offers such peace but unfortunately the peace I crave lies in another direction. I thank you and all your companions for the kindness you have shown me. A kindness I wish with all my heart I could stay and repay, but I must go. On the very first day you said something to me that has helped me above all else to recover: 'Nothing die. Only change'.
I thank you for it.
Lara Croft.
Kim looked up from the note and stared through the wafting curtains at the rolling grassland beyond, a placid smile once more on his face.
* * * * *
Lara Croft stepped tentatively onto the marble dais, pausing for a second before she allowed her gaze to settle on the scene so familiar to her imagination. Shards of jade statue littered the spaces between the dead soldiers in their petrified postures of agony. Hurt's headless body lay spread-eagled beyond, a thick brown stain of dried blood blossoming across the white floor. And behind him Angela still curled as if in sleep, her back to the trembling Lara who now approached on unsteady legs, her sight blurred by the tears that ran continuously down her cheeks. Crouching beside the girl's body, she reached out and let the golden hair fall through her fingers before turning over the small stiff body and looking into her white face. She bent further and laid a kiss on her brow, the coldness against her lips drawing out a long hacking sob despite her ravaged throat. Glad that she was unable to voice insufficient words of regret, she continued to stare for some time until her tears finally ran dry and she was able to turn her face away.
Stepping now over to where Hurt's body lay she bent, shuddering at the touch of his frozen skin, and carefully prised the sacrificial dagger from his stiff fingers. She straightened, casting another glance at the girl before striding over to the Orb. For a moment, she considered its ingenuous beauty, sparkling in the reflected light of the Dome and questioning her sanity before raising the knife. She slashed downwards hard against her wrist. Intent and unaware of the pain she gouged at her other wrist, harder this time and releasing a stream of thick red blood which she held unwaveringly over the huge diamond. "Here," she whispered bitterly, "here's your virgin's blood." A diffuse light immediately appeared in the centre of the stone and grew as she weakened, her ears buzzing strangely as she fought to overcome her faintness. The internal light continued to grow and still conscious, Lara fell against the dragon's jaw where the Orb was mounted, wiping her gushing wrists on the stone, pressing her pale forehead hard against the Orb, warm and sticky with her blood, and wished. She wished with all her heart.
"Lara?"
Angela's voice broke through the nauseous wave of dizziness in her head and Lara, spinning round like a drunkard, collapsed to the floor. Through hooded eyes she saw a blurred vision of Angela, unharmed and pink with life, approach - tears, fluttering hands, frightened eyes. As the buzzing in her ears became a roar and a circle of narrowing darkness encroached on her blurred sight, she reached out a trembling, bloody hand and smiling, stroked the golden hair once. Nothing die. Only change she thought and Lara Croft was gone.
Angela cried for a long time, filling the silent hollow Dome with the echoing noise of her grief that intensified her loneliness, underlined Lara's death and brought more tears in turn. Eventually the wailing became weeping and then sobbing before finally the tears stopped and the girl's jagged breathing returned to normal. She stood looking around nervously with wide eyes. Fidgeting, she was unsure about what to do next. She looked down at Lara's body, whose eyes, dull now, were still open, staring past Angela's shoulder and giving the girl an idea. Relieved at being able to do something she remembered how the policeman had gently closed her daddy's eyes all that time ago in the hotel and crouching she did the same now for Lara. The practicality of the action calmed her, provided her with enough courage to tenderly sweep her fingertips across Lara's brow. After tracing the outline of Lara's beautiful face, she delved her fingers deep into the soft texture of Lara's hair, as if drawing strength from the contact. Angela stood, turned and raising her hands to her own face, she slowly pushed Lara's sunglasses up to the bridge of her nose, a placid smile on her face.
The End
By
Neil Stokes
stokesneil@yahoo.es
This story contains some violence and bad language.
Thanks to Eva, Chris and Jess.
Tomb Raider, Lara Croft, her image and likeness are trademark and copyright © of EIDOS Interactive and Core Design. No infringement or challenge to these copyrights is intended.
* * * *
Chapter 14: Game Over
Lara awoke to the clashing cymbals of panic. Shooting erect in the bed, a scream dredged from her horror-filled heart stuck in her burning throat, leaving her gagging on silence as a cool hand, briefly pressed against her forehead, lowered her back to the pillows. Gentle murmuring she did not understand wove itself into the substance of her dream - the blood splashing over the orb - and guided her into the bright sunlight of the present. She turned her head noting the pain grating in her neck and looked at the man sitting at the bedside. A shaven head, shining eyes behind slanted lids, a placid smile, the compact oriental body swathed in orange robes; the monk spoke, answering the questions in her distressed look: "Well," he affirmed, "well," and for one moment Lara felt a tingling sense of peace before the brutal truth returned and wrung tears from her eyes. "Dead," she mouthed, her damaged throat unable to vocalise the words, "Angela's dead." Although barely intelligible the monk seemed to understand and shaking his head whispered: "No. Nothing die. Only change." Through the weakness that suddenly flooded her body Lara managed a nod before her eyes closed and she receded into a quiet peaceful sleep.
Over the next few days Lara slipped between sleeping and waking, hounded between the horror of her dreams and the even worse horror of reality, sometimes the two mixing in an unbearable cocktail of pain until eventually the fever burnt itself out. This time she awoke into the bright sunlight of the clean modest cell feeling weak and depressed but very much alive. Looking around at the bare whitewashed walls and the few sticks of functional furniture she saw that she was alone. She sat up in the bed, wincing at a flash of pain in her throat that she discovered was bandaged and which began to throb mercilessly - she knew without trying that she could not speak. With the regularity of a precise mechanism the images of Angela's death began to replay in her mind but without the convincing horror of her fevered dreams. Nevertheless the tears came in a quiet stream as she sobbed silently into the bedclothes.
A monk, the same she had seen that first day of her fever, came into the room with a look of delighted surprise on seeing her sitting up; the same placid smile she remembered. He approached the bed, taking a seat beside her. "You well?" he asked. Lara nodded as she wiped away the last of her tears. "You want eat?" he said offering Lara a small bowl containing a variety of porridge. Lara took the bowl, at first merely to please him but after she had painfully swallowed a mouthful, hunger asserted itself and she ate the rest greedily while the monk spoke to her in his disjointed English: "I am Kim. You very bad condition when we find you." He went on to tell her how two of their number, returning to this remote community had come across her hanging half dead from the giant hand of a jade statue, her own hands still grasping a long knife that was buried in the figure's chest. They had been forced to shatter the statue's hand with chisels to free her before bringing her here to their monastery, where she had spent the last few days in the grip of a fever. Kim, speaking some English from a stay in Britain, had been assigned to look after her when they had discovered her passport. He now took the empty bowl. "I tell more later. Now you sleep." She watched his robed figure turn and silently leave the cell. As he did so, his words came to the forefront of her mind: Nothing die. Only change.
Two days later she took a walk with Kim outside. Feeling quite fit; apart from her crushed throat, her other wounds were superficial. A cool breeze sweeping the grasslands, spread out beyond the garden where they walked, refreshed her, returning her strength. Kim told her of her illness, the monastery and himself, Lara encouraging him with gestures, using his quiet words as a mental shield to keep the horrors of her memory at bay. They came across other monks, working or strolling in the gardens, but while they were polite and friendly they kept their distance from her so that by the time night came with an enormous golden sun sinking rapidly below the horizon, she found herself alone with her protector. Turning to him in the failing light she made him understand the urgency she felt to be gone, despite her gratitude to him and his companions. "Not yet," he replied with a smile. "You still no strong. You stay here more and grow." Smarting with guilt at her subterfuge, she led him onto describing, purely for interest's sake, where they had found her. Unsuspecting and relieved to change the topic Kim repeated the story of her discovery, adding the geographical details she gently but persistently demanded until the sun was gone and he escorted her back to her cell, where she made him promise to show her the temple the next day.
Kim arrived the next morning soon after the sun had reclaimed its dominance, eager to reveal to Lara the gilded treasures of his monastery. As he stepped into her room his placid smile faded on seeing the bed empty and Lara's clothes and equipment missing. Then something caught his eye and bending he picked up the sheet of paper lying on the bedside table:
Dear Kim,
I am so sorry for running away like this. Please, please forgive me. Your beautiful monastery offers such peace but unfortunately the peace I crave lies in another direction. I thank you and all your companions for the kindness you have shown me. A kindness I wish with all my heart I could stay and repay, but I must go. On the very first day you said something to me that has helped me above all else to recover: 'Nothing die. Only change'.
I thank you for it.
Lara Croft.
Kim looked up from the note and stared through the wafting curtains at the rolling grassland beyond, a placid smile once more on his face.
* * * * *
Lara Croft stepped tentatively onto the marble dais, pausing for a second before she allowed her gaze to settle on the scene so familiar to her imagination. Shards of jade statue littered the spaces between the dead soldiers in their petrified postures of agony. Hurt's headless body lay spread-eagled beyond, a thick brown stain of dried blood blossoming across the white floor. And behind him Angela still curled as if in sleep, her back to the trembling Lara who now approached on unsteady legs, her sight blurred by the tears that ran continuously down her cheeks. Crouching beside the girl's body, she reached out and let the golden hair fall through her fingers before turning over the small stiff body and looking into her white face. She bent further and laid a kiss on her brow, the coldness against her lips drawing out a long hacking sob despite her ravaged throat. Glad that she was unable to voice insufficient words of regret, she continued to stare for some time until her tears finally ran dry and she was able to turn her face away.
Stepping now over to where Hurt's body lay she bent, shuddering at the touch of his frozen skin, and carefully prised the sacrificial dagger from his stiff fingers. She straightened, casting another glance at the girl before striding over to the Orb. For a moment, she considered its ingenuous beauty, sparkling in the reflected light of the Dome and questioning her sanity before raising the knife. She slashed downwards hard against her wrist. Intent and unaware of the pain she gouged at her other wrist, harder this time and releasing a stream of thick red blood which she held unwaveringly over the huge diamond. "Here," she whispered bitterly, "here's your virgin's blood." A diffuse light immediately appeared in the centre of the stone and grew as she weakened, her ears buzzing strangely as she fought to overcome her faintness. The internal light continued to grow and still conscious, Lara fell against the dragon's jaw where the Orb was mounted, wiping her gushing wrists on the stone, pressing her pale forehead hard against the Orb, warm and sticky with her blood, and wished. She wished with all her heart.
"Lara?"
Angela's voice broke through the nauseous wave of dizziness in her head and Lara, spinning round like a drunkard, collapsed to the floor. Through hooded eyes she saw a blurred vision of Angela, unharmed and pink with life, approach - tears, fluttering hands, frightened eyes. As the buzzing in her ears became a roar and a circle of narrowing darkness encroached on her blurred sight, she reached out a trembling, bloody hand and smiling, stroked the golden hair once. Nothing die. Only change she thought and Lara Croft was gone.
Angela cried for a long time, filling the silent hollow Dome with the echoing noise of her grief that intensified her loneliness, underlined Lara's death and brought more tears in turn. Eventually the wailing became weeping and then sobbing before finally the tears stopped and the girl's jagged breathing returned to normal. She stood looking around nervously with wide eyes. Fidgeting, she was unsure about what to do next. She looked down at Lara's body, whose eyes, dull now, were still open, staring past Angela's shoulder and giving the girl an idea. Relieved at being able to do something she remembered how the policeman had gently closed her daddy's eyes all that time ago in the hotel and crouching she did the same now for Lara. The practicality of the action calmed her, provided her with enough courage to tenderly sweep her fingertips across Lara's brow. After tracing the outline of Lara's beautiful face, she delved her fingers deep into the soft texture of Lara's hair, as if drawing strength from the contact. Angela stood, turned and raising her hands to her own face, she slowly pushed Lara's sunglasses up to the bridge of her nose, a placid smile on her face.
The End