Chapter Forty Four
13,048 BC
Sun one quarter way across the sky
The planet had its own ideas when the large earth quake ripped asunder the large tectonic plates and birthed from its depths the alien craft it had hidden for over 20 million years. It also caused fear to rush through the hearts of the small tribe of ancient humans that knelt worshipping their bright sky travelling deity.
It was one of their hunters, a youth of just 12, trying to prove his worthiness to be known as a man and to take a wife who found it. The dull, dirt covered metal protruding from the cold earth. He approached it with a bravery that would be seldom found by his peers many centuries from this present. He walked cautiously around the structure, was it a vehicle from the gods? He didn't know, and he knew better then to test the mighty beings that oversaw him. He reached out and touched the ship. It felt cold, gritty and damp, not at all like something the deities would ride within. Perhaps it was from those who reigned over the world of the rotten. The youth found a panel that was flashing; of course, he did not have knowledge of what either of those things were. All he knew was that it was a powerful sorcery indeed. He pressed the end of his spear on the flashing and the ship opened to him.
A gust of foul smelling wind rushed out to meet him. The chill and odour knocked him backwards and he fell onto the ground. He found the strength of character to pull herself back up and towards the opening. Light came from within, he wanted to see the gods. To ask them why it was so cold, why the flocks of animals they hunted were fleeing and would they assist a lowly boy to become a man. Such requests were probably disrespectful but surely the mighty all knowing beings would be aware of his piety.
Through the animal furs that formed his shoes, he was able to feel the cold of the metal he stood upon. The vessel was similar to a cave, the temperature was low and the majority of it was dark. There was movement to his left, and he spun quickly to see not a god, but a snake dangling from the ceiling… but it was no snake… it was… he wasn't sure what it was… but its innards told him it was not alive. He reached out cautiously with his spear and poked it. There was no hissing, no veering upwards, no fangs dripping with death; it was just a limp green snake that had silver and gold threads protruding out what was a simple rip across its back.
Two large thrones sat facing a large pane of magic. A large table covered with dots of colour and sticks that rose from it. All of it was crafted with that silver metal. Of course, his age and the lack of technology of his tribe meant he could never, ever grasp what these things were.
A howl came from behind. He stopped mid climb and spun to see what it was.
It was no wolf.
No bear.
No lion.
No animal his tribe hunted.
Had ever hunted.
It sounded remotely like the noises their tribe's wisest elder would make as he relayed the horrors of what lay in the land of the rotten.
This place was no vessel for the gods that loved them, that cared for them.
This was a place no youth should be.
That no living mortal should be.
He decided to leave. To tell his elders, his chief, to relay to them the horror that sat within this place.
He would be a man, yes, but killing a wolf or finding a herd of mammoth, that was a task that would give you manhood. Spending time in a vessel from the land of the rotten was not!
The youth exited the vessel but gave it one last glance, and wished he hadn't.
Standing in the doorway, long tapering claws clasping the edges of the metal, eyes glowing with a red seen only in the pits of a fire or the removed bowels of a dead beast. Its mouth opened, and a roar passed over its jagged teeth, a thick translucent fluid with a twinge of green dribbled down over his chin.
He roared again.
And then lunged forward, the youth frozen in fear at first, but managed, if only by reflex to hold up his spear, but the loosely attached pointed stone broke away easily as it came into contact with the metal body of that creature from the land of the rotten.
The youth screamed, and that scream fell upon only the ears of trees, birds and the occasional bear.
--
Laying in a trance, sitting in his tent, the skull of his greatest enemy filled with blood of a wolf cub, a few small embers burning on a wet leave. The fragrant aromas of the herbs and grasses he had placed upon those embers wrapped themselves around him, sending him deeper into the mind of the gods.
His eyes opened and only the sclera were obvious. His body stood high without intention or need of his arms, his body, controlled by a higher force, drove him out into the centre of their small encampment. He stood at the small fire. The members of his tribe who were not on the hunt came out to watch him. Watch him throw his arms up and taken by what would be classed as insanity in modern times, he began to dance and chant a language that would soon be lost to history.
Something evil had been woken.
And that evil was near.
--
The chief arrived back when the Sun was preparing itself for its bed deep within the earth; with him was his group of hunters, of men, the father and four older brothers of the youth in attendance.
They found the tribe's witch doctor still in his trance, still dancing, still chanting, about the fire that burned brightly.
The hunters lay the huge beast they had culled and the women began their work of butchering and preparing for the feast they would enjoy that night.
"He has been in that way for many sun steps".
An elderly woman approached the chief, she was the witch doctor's primary wife, the fine furs and the exquisite beads she wore expressed that.
"Witch doctor! I command of you! Tell me what entrances you!"
The chief held up his heavy axe of stone and mammoth bone.
"I see…"
The witch doctor added into his chant.
"I see…"
He said again, his voice slightly louder, but still belonging to the strange words he uttered without cause.
"EVIL!"
He stopped suddenly.
Flew his hands up.
Fingers splayed.
"AND IT COMES FOR US ALL!"
He leapt up and landed bare foot in that roaring fire.
"I want no evil! I want no evil! I want to be in the land of the rotten when the evil arrives!"
He roared about as the flames licked up his legs, his dry furs engulfed and erupted up his body with a large amount of fire.
None of the tribe's people stopped him.
This was usual for witch doctors.
This was honour.
The flames did not appear to harm him as they curdled his skin.
His eyes still white.
Still staring.
Arms still flailing.
Still screaming words that today are gone from record.
"EVIL! IT COMES! BE AWARE OF IT FOR IT COMES!"
And then there was a sudden burst of flame and the man was pulled down into the land of the rotten, leaving his body to become dust within the intense heat.
The wife stood there and yelled to the tribe.
"My husband! He hath gone to the land of the rotten! I would be no wife of honour indeed if I did not go to his side, to care for him on that plane and to protect him from the whore demands!"
She leapt into join the flames as they tore through the deeply hidden organs of her husband.
She screamed, however.
She was not lucky to be deep in trance, but she held firm to her honour, to her pact. And she joined her husband in the land of the rotten. She would not know the evil he spoke of before he left his world.
The tribe's people began the chant of funeral.
They lamented, but in a way were grateful as the deaths of their sages were payment to the gods for the knowledge they had released.
The chief was quiet as his people continued in their grief and in their preparation of the feast of their daily hunt. What concerned him, however, was this evil that was spoken of before they expired. What was this evil? When would it come? His sage had never been wrong, he probably wouldn't start now.
"Chief, my son, your nephew, has not yet returned from his scout. I desire him to be a man, yes, but forgive me if I ask leave to seek for him, to ensure my son has achieved his manhood".
"Brother, you must put aside the concerns of a father's heart and allow the heart of a warrior to prevail, you uttered such worries when your other sons ventured to manhood, and they came back as men! Do not belittle the honour your son has sought by concerning yourself with his journey before it has ended".
"Yes, but my youngest boy carries a soul that is delicate, perhaps not long for manhood".
"Then he will not make it there".
"But brother, remember not your position as children we were, it was you who was of similar heart to my youngest, and yet you rose past that to the title of chief".
"Indeed I did, but you must recall also, brother, that I overcame such a weak disposition and your son will do the same! He could very well rise above my own sons and claim the birthright afforded to our blood!"
"Your words give me hope; forgive me for the doubt that entered me! You are correct and I see that you are well deserving of our chieftain title! I will return to my wife and take her company!"
"Ahah! Indeed brother, a worthy pass time. I will partake of the warm meat of victory then see to my wives".
A shrill voice of a teenaged girl cried out a word that was akin to a god's name taken in vain.
The two men turned to see what the commotion had began.
Within the flames stood two skeletons each moving in ways unnatural, of course, being it was unnatural for a skeleton to dance within flames tainted by death.
"WARNING! WARNING! WE GIVE WARNING!"
The first one screamed, it was slightly larger, most likely the frail bones of their witch doctor.
"SLEEP WILL GIVE YOU ENTRANCE TO THE LAND OF THE ROTTEN!"
The second sung out.
"Oh how it will be a day of lamentations when the evil arrives, throwing babes into the land of the rotten!"
The male called out.
"End your placement here and flee! Flee! And you will flee the land of the rotten!"
"It is no coward that flees the land of the rotten".
"FLEE THE LAND OF THE ROTTEN! FLEE THE EVIL!"
Their bones crumbled and their words were ended.
"Such an omen cannot be ignored!"
The chief's brother cried.
"No, it cannot! Bring fourth what we need to appease the gods! Bring fourth the knowledge that has been passed and we shall turn our backs to the land of the rotten".
The chief added.
A young woman heavy with child stepped forward.
"I will step into the place of appeasement! I will beg the gods with my final breath to hold back the tide of evil that we have been warned of! With two lives we will win all lives!"
The woman stood there holding her arms above her.
The tribe gathered around her, singing and chanting that her offering was welcomed and thanked.
A young man approached the fire, he was the son of the witch doctor and his primary wife, now an orphan, but now a carrier of all the knowledge that they had passed to him.
There was no point explaining the full ceremony for its simplicity was found in its progression. The woman presented herself. The new witch doctor took his destiny. He plunged the finely crafted bone knife into her breast and spilt her life's blood to the ground about them. The rest was less then pleasant, but she had accepted her fate and offered herself willingly to it.
The moon was in the sky, its bleak features staring down over the proceedings and then there was the howl.
The woman's body with her infant child free of the womb lay upon the dirt, their blood spilling outwards and touching the feet of her community. The chief, his brother and all turned their eyes towards the howl in the darkness.
But such fragile eyes were not designed to see well in such pitch.
Light from the fire was not suitable enough to give illumination significant that they would see what approached.
All the hunters, all those wise in the ways of nature and its predators realised that what made that noise was no animal ripe for the hunt. It was something… something wrong.
The dead infant on the ground opened its eyes and squeaked "it comes", his mother, devoid of blood, her skin blue, her eyes locked in an eternal stare uttered the phrase "flee from the land of the rotten" and then whatever had dealt in them, whatever had given the warning, left.
Left to flee from the evil that approached.
Nothing came. There was no sudden attack, no rush of evil, nothing.
So, the tribe's people went to their feast and partook. And the body of the mother and her infant were burnt in the same fire that had taken their sage. And when the bellies were filled and the meat placed ready for preservation and the spears cleaned, the people returned to their tents to sleep.
--
The moon was nearing its final phase across the night sky, aiming down towards the earth where it would find its day's sleep.
The man, the father, stood from his bed where his naked wife lay sleeping. His other sons, men now, slept in their own tents with their own wives and their own children. He was the father of many, five sons and seven daughters; five of those girls were now women and were now married away to hunters of good standing. His two youngest girls were 5 and 8 and slept snugly in the back part of the tent. The man left the tent, with intention of voiding his bladder, though those words would mean little, if nothing, to him.
Standing outside the cool breeze of the early morning brushed over his upper body hair, his adornments made by the loving hands of his wife rattled slightly, his pants, crafted with the fur of his first kill were snug against his legs. Something wasn't right. There was a stillness to all of this, even with the breeze, that seemed… wrong.
He did what he needed to, then returned to the tent.
"Wife, I must go. I have something I must attend my attention towards".
The woman rolled, her naked breasts catching the dim moon light, a pleasant sight he realised, and if it was the last time he saw his wife he was glad it was in this manner. She murmured her understanding and drifted back into the rest she was enjoying. His children remained undisturbed.
He took his spear and began his trek towards where he was sure his son would traverse on his journey to manhood.
His son returned twenty minutes after the father had left.
He stood over looking the small community that he'd known as home.
Another youth who had stood watch noticed him there; the moon sitting in the lowest portion of the sky highlighted the dark, naked form of this boy.
"Friend! I had concerns for you! I had wonders as to your success! Tell me, friend, have you returned a man, or can I look forward to more games of childhood?"
The youth of 10 had come up the ledge his friend stood on.
"Friend? Do you acknowledge me, friend?"
He stood within reach of him.
"Friend? What is wrong?"
The youth of 10 reached out and laid his hands upon the 12 year old's shoulders. They were cold, a chill that wasn't natural, even for a naked boy to be standing out in such conditions.
"My friend? You seem incorrect in your manner of approach and temperament, what has beset you with such emotional distance?"
It was then a series of clouds passed from in front of a cluster of stars, giving light to the youth's face. The eyes of green that had once shone with life, with a desire to seek and please, and a strong will to make proud his father and his tribe by attaining manhood – they were now empty. Not just empty in the metaphorical sense, the sense where one spoke of a glimmer within those orbs of flesh, but the sockets were empty. There were no eyes in that boy's head. Just empty, bloody sockets of bone.
The ten year old uttered a half scream, staggered back and fell over a rock, falling backwards into a roll until he came to a stop at the bottom. He rolled on to his knees and screamed out to whoever would be awake to hear. He screamed with the intention of alert. He screamed like a child screaming for his mother when a bee had stung them, or a nightmare had woken them. And his screams woke the members of the tribe.
In his tent, the inexperienced sage woke, and he woke with the horror that something was now here, now within their camp that had nothing but malice desire.
"It has arrived! The evil has arrived!"
He grabbed his staff, the staff that was adorned with feathers and bones and gems that had passed through the blood line he was a member of. The staff that was believed by their family and their tribe to contain all the wisdom and magic of their ancestors. It had the power to push away evil. And he hoped it would do so now.
Other warriors had grabbed their spears and weapons and rushed from their marriage beds to confront whatever had erred against their terrain.
Instead, they would find the screaming child, yelling about the eyeless form of his friend standing upon the ledge. The eyeless youth continued to stand on the ledge.
The chief waved down his warriors and then began to approach the child, but the new sage came fourth.
"Stop, oh great chief! This is the evil that has come against us! You must not approach for to approach such evil will be to enter into the land of the rotten!"
"Oh hush yourself, you silly boy! You may carry the staff of your father, our wise doctor of sorcery, and you may don your naked body in his garments of finery and wisdom but you do not have the knowledge or understanding of the purpose you now find yourself with. Now hush and step away!"
The sage uttered a sob and with rejection seeping into his heart, he fled back to his tent to wake his wife and children with intention of having them flee this place. This place which would soon be a dark place.
Chief stood before the youth, eyeless.
"Speak, youth, are you returning as a man, or have you remained but a child?"
He hadn't noticed the lack of eyes.
The youth instead chose to speak with a tongue the chief had never heard. A tongue very few organics would hear and live to speak of it.
"Youth, I know not what words you use! Speak to me with respect! Speak to me in our native words".
The youth regarded him for a moment before stepping close enough that even in the dim light of near morning the chief could see the eyes were gone. The child opened his mouth and the stench of death embraced the aged warrior.
"I. Am. Death".
And with that, the chief found his heart on the end of the child's hand.
His intestines, filled still with last night's bounty were then spilled on the ground. The chief lived long enough to see this. He didn't live long enough to see what the youth would do to the community below.
In a way, it was tragic.
They had no chance of defending themselves against something that was not human.
That was not organic.
It resided within the body of an organic, but held a power that was not meant for hands of flesh.
It tore through the warriors that came against him.
It brushed aside the spears that were thrown at him.
It crushed the axes that were yielded.
It flicked over tents and gorged itself on the bodies of cowering women and their still sleeping children.
It spilt the blood of all it came across.
The new sage had succeeded in saving his wife and children. They stood on the ledge opposite where the child had come down, and they watched as everything they knew was laid waste before them. They watched as this evil, which he had felt but could not name, decimated the history they had crafted.
And he turned, with his wife sobbing, their children confused, and they left.
Somewhere out there, was the father of this youth, of course, the sage didn't know this, and he would eventually run into this man. This father. And he would inform him that no, his son had not become a man. He had become something else.
Something worse.
Flee from the land of the rotten.