Ascension Vol. Two

Chapter Fifty-Four

Out of the Mountain

Grizzly Brown was old, too old he felt at times, ambling from the bed to the shower, from the shower to the kitchen, from the kitchen to the front door leading to that unremarkable vast little world he had long since grown unamused by. He was too old to be up so early, too old to be standing there looking up at the early morning stars, watching them vanish one by one as the sun rose and with it the day. Others of his age had already retired, were probably sleeping in or eating or shitting or—he snorted. Those clods, meager and ancient, they couldn't see what he could see, the mountain as it were.

Jerking the front door close, Grizzly stepped forward while with practiced ease his gaze shifted to the east. His back swiveled soaking up the newly risen sun. His face, a knot of coarse grey wrinkles, scanned the clustered horizon of lush tangled windblown trees and thick stout bushes. They were smothered in the shadow of the mountain's peak, the mountain which was small and unremarkable, a surprise to almost any new comer. With its history and its vast potential, the old man, if you caught him on a good day, would easily admit that at times his descriptions of the mountain were far more on the fanciful side than on the actual. But the facts were the facts, that is what he told the reporters. It was because of those facts that he would always choose to stay, regardless of his funding, the weather, or his age. Old and round, the mountain looked more like a hill than anything else. Still for forty years, Grizzly Brown stared at it from that exact same spot at that exact same time. And each time, even today, he'd always felt the weary years that curved his back, gnarled his hands and thinned his hair vanish as his excitement simply budded and blossomed. This he wasn't too old for.

Putting his old tan bucket hat upon his head, the 70-year-old toddled down the side of the hill moaning, groaning and waddling with a small brown sack slung over his angled bent shoulders. It housed just a simple sandwich and an even blander looking mug of water, beige and white and dull. It was one of those twist top Tupperware jugs from the 1980s. The interns always chortled at it and in return he would always growl. What did they know? Everything else was at the site. He didn't need to bring anything else.

With that, the old man stepped forward. Wandering over the worn dirt path, he grunted before suddenly the earth gave way beneath his feet. His foot slipped. The loose gravel shifted until Grizzly found himself skating uncontrollably down the hill and towards the small swing bridge resting at the bottom, the bridge that swayed dangerously over a 15 foot drop and harsh river rapids that were nothing but foam and sharp rocks. He whimpered seeing the edge draw near. Reached out instinctively and by luck, with shaking hands, he caught the poll of the slight structure just barely catching his balance as his foot tootled off the edge. The sudden stop, which saved his life, didn't however save his hat. Its grey brim soared and dipped and glided gracefully as it fell into the opaque mists erupting quietly below. Grizzly looked down and cursed. "Need to get Joe-Jack- Jun-Junko on this. This hill is too steep for gravel that could trip a man." The old Englishman righted himself then stepped forward over rickety togs and tattered rope headed for the other side.

There in the dim light, in the shadow of the mountain, he saw movement. Stepping onto the rocky ledge, Grizzly Brown paused watching the shadow of a young man stand up. It looked as if he was jiggling something in his hand, a small sack, something brown, the old man thought. He twiddled with his 1960's coke bottle glasses and squinted. "Jack!" he called sharply.

The young man startled clumsily then turned. He jerked scrambling to tuck the susceptible pouch into his pocket. That caused the old man to huff some more and contort his nose and twist his mouth into an almost pretzel shaped kind of frown. It was all wrinkles and white coarse whiskers. He sputtered. "Joe-Jack-no… Boy! What's your name?" He pointed an arthritic finger at the young man who had started to amble over on quiet feet. Grizzly watched him lift wide stretched hands in a pacifying manner, waving them stupidly while bowing at ridiculous speeds. How he could stay stable Grizzly would never know. "What are you doing? It's barely six am. No one is allowed on the site until seven! It's too dangerous to be up and about like you are, especially by yourself. And what's that in your hand?"

The young man, one of those blasted natives he could barely stand, just bobbed his head bowing in that ridiculous manner which he could never look at without getting dizzy. "Hai, sir, just a little dirt," he explained in his rushed, imperfect English. The boy looked worn and greasy and unclean. He was definitely one of those sleazy types he'd seen periodically in his travels. Still, this lot, Grizzly reminded himself, did have some use. Like this boy. The kid was a little workaholic ant, never stopping his work at the campsite until well after closing, constantly asking questions and bringing in items that would hold some important information about the mountain or the group that had once lived next to it 500 years prior. He was, in short, lucky and the archeologist knew enough to not let his impatience and dislike get in the way of his goals.

He eyed the boy letting his suspicion smear into a mask of baffled understanding. "Aye, dirt. I'll never quite understand your fascination with gathering soil samples here. Do you study it?"

The boy, well young man really, smiled following in step as the elder meandered towards the entrance of the cave. They paused, the doctor looking in, purposely ignoring the young man's brown skin, dirty jeans, black cropped hair and set of the weirdest color eyes the doctor had ever seen, especially on any Jap he'd ever seen, violet, blue with a hint of purple that seemed to… He sighed hearing the boy begin to ramble.

"Hai, I study, but I gather more to just like collect them. Dirt is everywhere. It doesn't change and stays the same no matter what. This dirt," he retrieved the pouch and waved it, "has seen history. I gather and I too can see history." The young man smiled, a smile filled with small black gaps that the old man could never quite look at for too long and so he kept his back to the boy purposely.

Grizzly removed his pack and placed it on the ground while he stooped to gather a brush, a hoe and other tools along with another wide brimmed hat which he liked to call his lucky brim. He always wore it and swore he would die with it. Brown and dopey, every archeologist had one of these. "Queer," he said. "I can't fathom collecting dirt of all things, but each to their own, I suppose." He muttered then waved the boy off. "Just take your dirt and go tend to the path like I asked you to last night before anyone else gets here. You're here. You might as well be useful." He waddled into the cave uncaring for the violet eyes that glared at him from under dirty scattered bangs.

The boy after a moment left the old man cursing under his breath as he wandered to the edge of the cliff. He stared down at the stream dancing below. He looked up at the sky. The sun was getting brighter, its airy backdrop turning a lighter shade of dusty blue. The others would be arriving soon to stink and work and curse and moan. Humans, the boy groaned,how irritating they were. He blinked, then stepped forward one foot resting on the side of the cliff, the other following as sure as can be. He walked down the cliff face like that as casual as pumpkin pie until he stopped at the edge where the river met rocky cliff. He pulled out the packet in his hands, his fingers playing with the string tying it closed. His hair tweaked forward like the denim of his clothes, just barely touching the surface of the water. He sighed and tilted his head, lifted his other hand to draw on the surface spelling something, a name, a word, a… he didn't know… until the rough surface froze and stilled.

The light of the sunrise caused the water's reflective edge to flash and shine like a lamp in a mirror. He grimaced seeing it. He blinked and then it was gone replaced by feathers and fur and a face carved out of ebony stone. The boy smiled. It was crooked and ugly. "I gots another mum." His accent was now English, no Scottish, no… it was unplaceable, changing with every syllable he spoke. He tossed the packet a few times in his hand before dropping it into the water. It was caught instantly by gloved fingers. They gripped it tightly with claws that were clean and sharp. Silently, the masked being bowed, then turned to leave without speaking, without noise or expression or gesture or… But still the boy spoke quickly, perhaps too quickly. "Hey, can I um…"the boy paused. "Aye," he stuttered. "He's close. We seen the scales yestereve and a pair of eyes that were dark and bubbly like. It won't be too long. He gets more aggravated by the day."

The being turned back. Its sightless mask tilted mockingly with approval or maybe disapproval at the boy. Sometimes he couldn't tell.

The young man lifted his head and smiled. He pointed at the pouch. "You wish I get more? Flee will get more, mum. Flee promises. Just please…" he paused waiting. The boy looked away dejectedly, no uncertainly, no—

He couldn't read it, no her. He couldn't…

The figure pulled out something from her pocket and tossed it at the young fly named flee through the water. It sailed and sure quick hands caught it. Flee smiled bringing it to his nose smelling, licking it with a tongue that was hairy and spiked. "Delicious," he purred watching the water dim and splash.

The world went back to rights. The boy then smiled and pocketed his treasure. Then with the ease of a spider climbed back to the top of the mountain to clear the path. One thought tugged at him until the others came, until 7 o'clock when work was about to begin. "Such a nice mum that Sparrow and a beauty she be too. Sapsparrow, what a beauty she is, indeed." Flee smiled and began to sweep.

- Calla