Bridges of air and thought

The unexpected journey of an anti-hero

Life, and the realities in which we exist within have many levels of understanding--worlds to a through other worlds. As unlikely as such might be this fact is true none the less. Explore the inner reaches of a labyrinth of the impossible and let the anti-hero of my tale be your guide. May your destiny lead you to paths rarely walked but always looked for who knows what intrigues of life you may discover?      

The day had started out to appearances sake simply enough, awaking to the ragtag symphony of birdsong he methodically got dressed, crawled out of his tent, and meditated on what the turns and twists of this delightfully arduous journey would bring my spirit all the while he broke my night long fast by way of black coffee and pemmican.

 In the morning the first sip of steaming hot coffee is always the best.  The traveler thought to himself. 

 After cleaning up the mess kit and his face in a small creek downhill from camp he stumbled upwards around brush, sapling trees, and came to a peculiar rock out crop that had arranged itself into the not so vague facsimile of a woman sunbathing. But the strange feature of this (he could only assume) nature made sculpture was that “she” had one hand clutched over her heart while her left arm was pointing an accusing finger across the valley to the top of a monstrous hill without the usual grace of trees covering its peak. From his vantage point the top looked as if it the top disappeared downwards looking all too much like a dormant volcano. The tree lines along the precipices perimeter were all (both great and small in stature) leaning away from the peak humbly bowing to the world.

All of the trees had been transformed into silent pillars of charcoal.

A quarter mile to his left was the source of the tiny waterway creeping towards, running over, and finally cascading down the rugged side of the mountain into a series of shallow pools that consecutively reduced into the creek that he had just used. The creek swirled across black stone that was spider webbed with gold in the shape of lightening streaking through a dark night sky. Coupled with the effect the water lent, the liquid pathway appeared to be in a state of joyful sorrow. For why else would water shed tears of sunlight?        

   Walking on air is a simple matter; but only if the earth allows it to be so he heard being whispered to his soul from the fog. The cliffs edge dared to him with seducing mirth” It is alright just taking one step away from the path you will not be harmed”. Crawling with the precision that a spider traveling down a wall would be impressed with, he descended to the belly of the valley.

He came upon a small clearing surrounded with groves of fruit trees.

 In the middle were four trees encircled within the center, each of which reached to the sky a hundred feet tall. To the north a tree of glass with ice blue inclusions and out stretched “branches” that ended with sharp points. Poised at the base there was a warrior frozen solid with sword in hand, the tip of the blade barely touching its intended victim. Entrapped within, a girl covered by frost wearing a flower dress of blue silk with raven black hair billowing behind her as if caught by strong wind. Down her left cheek a single tear suspended just below her green eye.   

 To the south a tree of blazing fire whose leaves fluttered in the wind with alarming brightness and terrifying beauty for the resembled foliage but consisted of ember. A bird flew into the glade towards the spectacle, upon realizing that its intended perch was aflame the aerial acrobat attempted to make a hasty retreat, to the birds misfortune it glanced its wingtip on a branch and combusted with a horrid screech. Ash floated to the ground like a gothic’s dream of snow.   

To the east a tree of obsidian with leaves of silver and fruit of precious gems and metals. The apples were rubies, the pears emeralds, the plums sapphires, and the peaches were made of gold. From a lower branch hanging on with both arms there was a little boy petrified into the form of an obsidian statue. He had been captured for eternity in the last act of play for all time.   

To the west was a “tree” as the others before except that it consisted entirely of mist swirling within as if it was constantly being disturbed by a fierce wind. Although there was a torrent of movement within the static form of the being, the surrounding glade was blissfully calm. After he focused his attention beyond a mere glance, ghostly figures and faces condensed and evaporated within the trees trunk and branches. Then all of a sudden the violent swirling stopped and within the tree a vision appeared. As if he stood in front of a mirror he could see himself and behind him and over his shoulder the traveler watched as a rectangle opened up in the center of the terra formed elemental configuration. At the edge he could just barely make out a step leading downwards. 

Turning around he found that a staircase had silently appeared.

As he walked down a seemingly endless spiral stairway the subterranean world steadily became brighter, the steps turned from the color of loamy soil to iridescent white and the walls of the downward tunnel pulsed with a green glow. From the ceiling hung the roots of the trees above intertwining into a tapestry of elemental paradox. The mixtures of the two florescent appendages of architecture suddenly were thrown into relief by blue flames that ignited within small alcoves before him as he continued the journey into this newfound psychedelic abyss. There were a total of seven hundred and seventy seven steps before the staircase gave way to a cavern.

Laid out before him were massive causeways made of diamond steadily pulsing with veins of blue sapphire and quicksilver. As he peered past his boots he silently appreciated the steadiness of the platform; for how else would he be able to survive the mile long plunge into the rivers of magma that flowed viciously below? The vaulted ceiling radiated a steady cool breeze for in between the massive stalactites there as if spaced out with careful precision were sporadically placed air vents. The air tasted of fruit and sulfur. 

Continuing onwards along the main walkway he not help but to notice a faint resonance of stringed instruments and a flute being played with contagious precision and overwhelmingly calming effect. After an hour of marching through this kaleidoscope of wonder he looked to the left and beheld that upon a carved stone pedestal that rose solitarily from the scorched depths a group of stone faced and granite made musicians performed. The entire consortium of artist had their eyes closed as if they had been playing since the beginning of time. There was no need to look at each other’s instruments since the music was not read from a sheet of notes but instead from their very souls. 

A woman of slender stature sat upon a crystal bench caressing the strings of a six foot harp, playing a lute while standing by her an elderly bard posed while sporting a long beard made of phosphorescent moss he accompanied the harp player with exquisite precision. A small girl spun and cavorted around two other women whilst producing a sound (that birds would stop mid flight and be still to learn from) upon a flute made of translucent black glass with silver filigree overlaid with glinting precision. The two women that were being danced around sat upon another bench of crystal back to back; to the left a violinist with a violin composed of blackened steel that was strung with strands of light. To the right a woman of entangling beauty wove an ethereal wail throughout the cavern with a cello made of dark flame.

Hoping for a place to set up camp and rest he trudged onward until eventually coming to a door made of ironwood and copper at the farthest wall of a fountain strewn platform. At the bottom of each fountain lay various coins from throughout the world and time.

Above the door hung a sign reading “The Township of the Unknown welcomes you to the Cavern’s Inn”. As he approached the door it swung open and one the most beautiful woman stepped forward to greet him with eyes of starlight and a smile that had been stolen from the sun upon its daily rise. “Hello traveler my name is Yahie, I am happy to inform you that I will be your servant for the duration of your stay. Please come inside.” The pack upon his back felt as if the world had been tied to it; and who was he to refuse good hospitality?

Once inside he found that he was fallowing Yahie through a corridor lit with hovering orbs of fire. The walls were paneled with stone carvings depicting scenes of some alternative history consisting of a disturbing nostalgia. 

Gruesome fields and gullies strewn with the acts of ancient war and misery, armies of half human half creature laying into one another in the foreground cast beneath a background of a man and woman stand shoulder to shoulder atop a mountain (similar to the one that the woman was pointing to that very morning); the woman clad in a suit of armor held above her head a sword alight with black flames while being struck with a enormous bolt of lightning. The man was reading out loud from a tome in his left hand with his right hand outstretched to the horde of monstrosities climbing the to the peak towards the couple.

The strangest feature of the portrait was that the woman had her other hand pointing towards him.

Out of curiosity the traveler asked his hostess “If I am to stay here how am I to repay your kindness, I only worry because I have no money?” Yahie replied “Have no fear, the people that reside within our township do not value currency of the sort that you speak of instead your room and board can easily be repaid with trade of goods or services. For instance tomorrow I will be travelling to town to procure ingredients for the cook and I will need an escort to discourage potential robbers. Within these tunnels and earthen caverns food and supplies are regretfully of more value than life itself. Aha, we have arrived. Please sign your name with a brief description of any workable skills you have in the ledger in the corner. I will then take you to your room.” 

The ledger rested upon a carved stone slab protruding from the wall. He walked over and made his mark with the feathered quill pen that had been set next to an ink filled depression chiseled into the shape of a sake cup artistically placed above the name filled tome.    

Author's Note

An easy going adventure through my imagination

Reviews

[CWP]

I enjoyed the parts I read, but I kept tripping up on minor errors (sorry I'm a grammar nazi, but a smooth read is important to me) and I'd suggest going over it slowly or asking a friend to comb through it for them. It's simple things like "The cliff's edge dared to him" or the missing comma between what the fog whispered and who was understanding it.
I did like it though, fantastic imagery and a wide rage of vocabulary made it fun.

[mlo]

The details were vivid and could easily envision what you were describing. Some of my favorites were "the liquid pathway appeared to be in a state of joyful sorrow. For why else would water shed tears of sunlight?" and "To the west was a “tree” as the others before except that it consisted entirely of mist swirling within as if it was constantly being disturbed by a fierce wind. Although there was a torrent of movement within the static form of the being, the surrounding glade was blissfully calm. After he focused his attention beyond a mere glance, ghostly figures and faces condensed and evaporated within the trees trunk and branches". I also really enjoyed the passage describing the musicians "... A woman of slender stature sat upon a crystal bench caressing the strings of a six foot harp, playing a lute while standing by her an elderly bard posed while sporting a long beard made of phosphorescent moss ...To the right a woman of entangling beauty wove an ethereal wail throughout the cavern with a cello made of dark flame." There are parts were the mechanics are a bit rough but it is not anything that the collaboration of a good editor couldn't solve.
I would like to know more about what the antihero is thinking & feeling -- consider letting us in on his thoughts. Please continue the story as I want to continue to read it.

[Spotted Hyena]

"In the morning the first sip of steaming hot coffee is always the best. The traveler thought to himself." This should only be one sentence.
"Walking on air is a simple matter; but only if the earth allows it to be so he heard being whispered to his soul from the fog." Try making it more clear where the dialogue ends and the narration begins.
I like the poetic, almost rambling language. However, the run-on sentences sometimes make me lose track.
The descriptions were vivid, though they sometimes ventured into cliche territory.
Overall, the world is interesting and very vividly described.I would like to know more about the "antihero"
character. Maybe mention his reactions to the things he sees? Does he feel sad or indifferent when the bird is burned up, for example. This is definitely a great start to a story!

[sakiasen]

This is an ongoing work in progress. Any thoughts about make work are all welcome.