PRIMORDIUM NULLA RETRORSUM
Chapter 2
AUTHOR: TowandaBR, Thisbee, Lady Cris Krux
DISCLAIMER: All of the characters of the series "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's The Lost World" are property of John Landis, Telescene, Coote/Hayes, DirecTV, New Line Television, Space, Action Adventure Network, Goodman/Rosen Productions, and Richmel Productions.
SPOILERS: After HEART OF THE STORM
To all people who keep TLW alive by any means.
Thank you for the reviews or comments: Santa Crux, Roxana, Adina, Explorer, Katybelle, The Dramatic Dolphin, Cris, Rosa,
Also in Portuguese: "PRIMORDIUM NULLA RETRORSUM"
They barely saved the clothes they had on. Actually, they'd not even felt when they hit the water. They woke up by the margin of the river not knowing what had happened, neither if it had elapsed minutes, hours, or days.
They sought for the packages they had brought with themselves, but they didn't find any sign of them. No tracks, absolutely nothing was found in the river of shallow waters. Backpacks and packages filled of proofs about the existence of the lost world gathered in the last three years were lost. Finally, they verified that each one of them had kept a single object.
After having packed all his things, Malone had noticed that he had forgotten to wrap up two of his journals, one of them about the plateau. He wrapped them in linoleum and, using a bandage, tied them attached to his body, under his undershirt. He was surprised when he found only one – and it was not the one about the plateau. He found exactly the only journal he had never ever shown to anybody: a small journal about Veronica.
On those first days in the plateau, he had been so affected by the girl that he had chosen the smaller of his notebooks and trained himself to write his thoughts about her on it. And the most important thing there was how she affected him and how only being by her side comforted him and reduced his fears. Although it brought to him a new fear: to lose her. Sometimes he suspected that the young woman knew how special were the words written in that specific journal. Not that she had read it furtively. Ned was quite right that she would never violate his privacy, but even though she would always reserve a different look for him whenever he dedicate his time to scribble in that specific notebook.
Roxton smiled. He had saved the two things that had great significance for him. His hat that, in an impetus, he had left back to his friends as a gift for the Treehouse. And an intact picture of Marguerite, with one of her pretended furious look that he loved so much. In the day that picture had been taken, he had stolen the sweetest kiss from her.
The picture was taken almost one year after they had arrived to the plateau. Challenger had asked her to pose having a brontosaurus by the opening, behind her, in order to allow London readers to get a real proof of the animal dimensions. It was a very hot day and Marguerite seemed to be crankier than ever. The scientist's delay in choosing a better angle didn't make the situation any better. Even after the picture, she was still in the same bad mood. Although knowing how dangerous she could be in that mood, Roxton got closer to her while she was muttering to herself and washing some clothes, and kissed her. She corresponded in a very passionate way, but soon after got rid of him and left stamping her feet and calling him names, pretending to be offended by his gesture.
Challenger had put four precious stones in the pocket of his vest. When he opened the small sack where they were, there was only one remaining. Not the largest one, neither the smallest, but the one he would use to finance their journey back to London, nothing more, nothing less.
Together with some others, he had saved that specific stone for two years. Usually it was Marguerite's characteristic to keep them. But that one had been collected by him while walking in the forest, the last time he had been together with Summerlee, a day before their frustrated trial of leaving the plateau that finished with Arthur hurt by an arrow and falling on the waterfall. Sometimes, he thought that if he had dedicated less time to find the exit of the lost world, his friend would be still alive.
They walked for almost half day down the river. The weather was hot and humid but the fact that they were traveling without any baggage helped a lot. They noticed that those three years in the plateau had given them enough training so that short trip day in the jungle was very calm.
Finally they arrived at a small and rustic village, where they were received warmly. It seemed that all the inhabitants, maybe moved by idle curiosity, agglomerated around to welcome them.
Even though their hosts didn't speak the same language, they found a way to explain themselves clearly in what really mattered. Some words were similar to the Zanga's language and other words had been learned by the natives when in contact with expeditions that had been there before. They were given the best their hosts could offer to a guest.
Taken to the shallow part of the river, where it formed small swimming pools of running water, they were bathed with herbs; their scratches cared, their clothes washed and manually sewn.
They had a delicious meal including fish roasted inside huge banana leaves, cooked manioc and tea.
They were guided to a small cottage, where the air circulated freely, providing a soft breeze where, in mats, they slept almost immediately, so exhausted they were from the trip.
When they woke up, they walked around the village and later they were guided to different places.
Challenger was taken by the women and he had a good time while they tried to teach him the art of weaving baskets from natural straws. He was enchanted with their abilities.
Malone was taken by the hunters, who showed him the art of the hunt weapons' manufacture. Although they were making fatal instruments, they were careful to carve symbols that showed the respect they had for their preys.
Roxton was 'captured' by the children, who took him to the river, where they spend a lot of time raising on his shoulders, using him as diving-board and summoning him to join them in the recreation.
On that day, the three men surrendered to the small life pleasures, as they had not been able to do for a long time, and for some time they could temporarily forget the real reason for them to be there.
When darkness fell, they met up with the Indian chief close to the bonfire. He gave them a bag filled with tobacco showing how they should inhale it.
After some minutes, they felt light and completely opened to listen to the words that would come next.
"You have a lot of questions and I have some answers." – the native began – "Our community has been here for hundreds of years and we have a mission to accomplish: to receive those who leave the plateau. Each one of you was allowed to bring a precious thing with you."
"This is not true. I lost almost all my journals."
"You still kept a precious one, didn't you?"
Ned smiled. The native pointed next to Roxton.
"You were allowed to keep something that, in any moment, can show you that you're still alive."
John touched the picture that he had close to his heart.
"I left empty-handed!" – the scientist protested – "All my experiments and notes are just gone."
"If all your experiments and notes had been saved, how do you think you would afford to get back to where you want to go?" – Challenger held the stone firmly inside his pocket. After a pause he spoke.
"I need to know one thing."
"Arthur Summerlee." - Ned completed.
"One of the kindest men I had the honor to meet."
"Did he leave the plateau? Did he survive?" - Roxton was curious.
In the same way Challenger, Roxton and Malone had wakened up at the riverbank, with Summerlee happened no different. But hit by an arrow in the abdomen, he barely could move and so he stayed there, looking at the sky, breathless, awaiting for his destiny, until he was found and taken to the village.
Being seriously wounded and very weak, each member of the community tried to contribute to make the old man get better: since those who picked fruits to make juice for him, to the ones who cared for him day and night, trying to keep him comfortable.
And he never complained. For a long time he convalesced, getting better and strengthening.
In the first days after getting back to his senses, he was satisfied only by observing, curiously, that people who so kindly took care of him. Later, when he could already talk, he had a good time trying to communicate with the diligent hosts.
Still by his bed, the children met together around the botanist telling him stories about hunts using sign language. Summerlee adored having them around. They also brought plants so that he could teach the name of each one of them. Nobody understood anything; however the soft tone of Arthur's voice was always a delight to the children.
His slow recovery already lasted almost two months, when he was suddenly caught by an infection that would have been easily healed if his organism weren't so weakened. After several days fighting for dear life, he died.
But he wasn't sad when he passed away. On that year, in the plateau, he had had the adventure of an entire life and he was thankful for that. And in one night like this, under the effects of the tobacco, he spoke about friends that he had made and left back: the obstinate Marguerite and Veronica; Challenger, the best friend; Roxton, the fearless; Malone, the boy.
The three friends meditated and reached a common conclusion: Arthur Summerlee, the generous.
The following days were fulfilled with work. The rainy season would make their traveling too dangerous, so they tried to enjoy their stay as much as they could, and paying his hosts with their work.
Roxton taught some techniques that he had learned while he hunted and while he learned to fight and survive in the plateau. He trained the natives to get meet easier and in greater quantities.
Challenger devoted himself to teach the women a more efficient way of cultivating the ground to extract larger advantages from it. He showed how they should plow the form soil to make better user of the rainwater.
Malone helped in the building of a mud oven. When the work was finished, he smiled when noticing it was very similar to the one that existed at the Treehouse. He also surrendered to the manual work, cutting firewood to the dawn.
After a month, they prepared their scanty luggage and they left. They were escorted along the Amazon river to other villages, later to the closest town, from there to a small city, later to a bigger one, until they finally arrived to Belem.
In Belem, they urged to inform the Zoological Society about their travel back, and they arranged transatlantic transport.
They traveled badly accommodated at the basement of a cargo ship, the only alternative they found considering their limited budget, and they steered towards that once called home: London.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Please R&R