All of us kids were still helpless, still held captive by our ants and now protected by a dozen more. Brian was the most active of all. His energy was renewed by the successful attack of the ants. Brian fought. He fought hard, twisting, turning, yelling, hitting, trying to get out of the jaws that held him. The rest of us watched Brian’s struggles. Suddenly, I realized what he was doing, and I knew why.
The living-dead spider moved through the ants like they weren’t even there. Nothing could stop him: not jaws, not beetles, not teams of ants, nothing. He walked through it all. Everything he touched died. Ants attacked. They were simply repelled, and they were simply dead. One of the beetles tried his bullying tactic. It died, as well. The walking dead spider didn’t have to bite, struggle, or even lift a hairy foot. Whatever it touched just died. Every time something died, the abomination grew stronger and more focused than it was mere seconds earlier. The monster had been given new life, but now it was infinitely more capable of taking life. Every time it killed something, Brian fought harder than ever to escape. The rest of us were happy to stay with the protection we had.
The ants increased their efforts as well, but their tactics changed. If the ants lost this battle, there was only one possible outcome. The king spider had already begun the ceremony, this time without reverence, but definitely, he had a mission: to raise as many dead as possible.
A hundred ants charged the living dead. A hundred died. The king raised another of the dead spiders over his head, but a pack of ants brought it down. The king looked to the living dead for help. That glowing monster was crawling toward the central altar, scrambling over the bodies of a hundred dead ants toward the living jaws of a hundred more. Hundreds, thousands of ants died in order to succeed in the one possible way. Mass suicide! They intended to build a mountain of bodies between the king spider and the living dead. It worked. The king lost the moment. The orb began to glow black. The king saw, and his confidence failed. He tried to lift another dead soldier, but another horde of ants was quickly on top of him. The huge spider swung around, knocked several from the altar, but numbers continued to stem the tide of this battle. The orb changed; it took on a reddish glow. More spiders scattered through secret, unprotected cracks in the walls. Two ants finally reached the orb and knocked it from the hands of the black spider. Those two rolled the orb off the altar directly toward the remaining beetle. The red glow became intense. The beetle was their best safeguard, or so it seemed. Success was right around the corner. The ants that had attacked the newly living spider suddenly collapsed onto nothingness. When they organized themselves and raised themselves from where they had fallen, the spider was gone, evaporated as if it had never been there in the first place. The orb glowed blue with flashes of red.
There had to be a reason: astonishment because of a disappearing spider, joy over winning this battle, mission accomplishment. Whatever the reason, the ants loosened their grip on us. Brian was quick to notice, and he took perfect advantage of that instant to slip through the jaws of his ant. He became nearly invisible among the piles of dead. He scampered through the dead and through the groups of confused living, and he sprinted directly toward the beetle. Brian found protection between the beetle’s legs, just as we had when we first learned to fight the jumping spiders. We didn’t understand, but Brian ran in and out using those stout legs as pivot points to change directions—instantly. The beetle was both awkward and unsuccessfully in its attempts to corral Brian. During one of those passes, Brian snagged the orb and clutched it to his chest. Thomas, Sarrah, and I could do nothing but watch as both Brian and the orb vaulted through those beetle legs toward one of the secret passages. As he turned to face us, he held the orb up as the kind spider had done. In its glow, I swear that I saw Grandpa’s face. He looked so sad and so very fearful, as if everything he was and everything he dreamed was destined to be lost. Everything was being taken from him: his family, our Grandma, his life, and now his death. But in Brian’s face I saw victory, until three ants attacked him and knocked the orb to the floor. The thing rolled itself toward the altar as if it belonged there. The ants, all three of them, sprinted after the orb, and Brian lowered himself into a crack in the wall. The last thing I saw of him, Debbie, was his face, all twisted with anger and confusion. The last thing I heard was Brian yelling, “I’ll be back, Grandpa.”
The battle was finished. The ants were holding their own for the moment. The orb had been rescued. It had returned to its normal state and color, and it was, once again, resting in its place on the stage. And now, we three were all that remained of the orb’s prophecy.
*****
38. And Now There Are Three
Then man and child will intervene
But one will step between.
My recollection of the next few minutes is vague. Visions of death, murder, desecration, and evil had my mind wandering in a hundred directions and in no direction all at the same time. I was in a complete daze, probably bordered on breakdown. I heard nothing except the voices inside my head, and those kept repeating parts of that stupid poem from The Book of Paths. I kept hearing Brian yell at Grandpa over, and over, and over. I saw Brian fading into that secret crevice, and I saw the anger and hatred in his face as he disappeared. I remember wondering what Sarrah must have been thinking when Brian sank into that crack in the tree.
Three will leave but one will not,
memories not wanting to chase.
I could only imagine what other thoughts must have boiled in her mind.
The three of us were practically alone in the chamber, alone with hundreds, maybe thousands of ants. But it was different, so very different. These ants were cleaning, farming, building or repairing tunnels, tending to business. Normally, incredible events accompanied our presence in this chamber, but now things were different. We stood there, but incredible seemed to have vanished. There were no bowing ants. No wave after wave of rhythmic stomping. No ants standing in parallel rows to form wheel spokes. No magical choreography. What was present was the crushing sight and stench of death and the work being done by the cleaning crews. Dead bodies littered the floor from wall to wall. Bodies of ants, spiders, mosquitoes. Dozens of ants, saddled by virtue of birth with the job of cleaning, stacked bodies on top of bodies if that were possible, and they chopped larger ones into smaller pieces if need be. I was certain that those pieces of dead were being taken to some storage room deep inside the bowels of the ant hill. I was just as certain that they could very well be part of tomorrow’s lunch. Nothing went to waste in this world. I had the strange thought that I would probably be seeing, and maybe eating, more of these dead bodies in the near future.
Some invisible signal caused our ants to carry us toward the altar. These three ants were the only ones interested in the fact that we puny humans were still here. With us in their mouths, they carried us along the few paths available, frequently over piles of dead bodies that had been stacked by the cleaners, and over several of the live ants that were stacking the heaps of dead bodies. They delivered us to the orb, which once again was nestled in its resting place, and loosening their grip ever so slightly, they put each of us in front of our own stone slab: the same one we stood in front of during the first ceremony. This time we could not follow Grandpa’s example; he was no longer there to lead us. I knew what to do, and I knew it would work. I put my hand on the stone. As soon as I did, the orb began its job, started to change, to glow in its amazing array of colors, to begin its magic. I saw Thomas’s jaw drop, and I saw Sarrah’s eyes dart directly to mine. Neither of them knew that I had been here before, alone. Neither of them knew that I could bring the orb to life.
Once again the orb and its stone began to spin. Once again, the stone became an intensely deep blue, and the spinning globe assumed the look of a living sun that changed with each revolution. Spears of light stabbed at the walls of the coliseum, and once again, we awaited the orb’s words. The working ants ignored the harmonic hum, the warm glow of the orb, the rotating blu
e stone. The ants added no splendor to the orb’s magical act. Their deep respect and their majestic ceremony had been replaced by our sorrow and the tremendous weight of some responsibility that I had yet to understand. As before, the voice began.
“Once again, greetings to the queen mother. I know that home is where you should go. You must know that the price is low. Find the orb’s secret. That you must know. That and the key will allow you to go. The secret is easy. It’s not hard to know. But essential it is for all who will grow.”
“Queen mother?” I barely heard Thomas whisper the words. I couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or if he was truly surprised. Sarrah remained blank and emotionless, or maybe it was nothing but emotion. I’m certain she was nearly, if not totally, unaware of everything that had just happened. She was lost in a different way than her brother was lost, and I could only hope that we could find her again.
My thoughts returned to the orb. Now it was changing again, back to its unexcited state. The spin slowed. The shafts of light were sucked back inside. The blue stone became a lighter blue. I was actually angry. The only thing it did was give us another riddle. It never gave answers. It only gave questions. More questions. There was one thing that was perfectly apparent, though. This time, it gave us a riddle we had to solve if we wanted to go home.
The cleaning crews worked steadily while the orb said its piece. When the voice stopped, the cleaning crews remained at work as though the orb had never begun spinning. These ants behaved as if nothing out of the ordinary had ever happened. Our ants had never completely released us, and now they simply lifted us and we were on our way yet again, heading back to our prison chamber. This time, there was no turning back.
*****
39. Getting Past the Obvious
The entirety of the return trip to our prison was exactly as it had begun: different than any before, long, and dull, and thoughtful. There were no spiders, no mosquitoes, no wars or battles. Far worse, there was no Grandpa, and there was no Brian. There was only pain, sorrow, and another riddle.
The ants deposited us in our cell much more abruptly than ever before. Three sets of jaws opened, and three people thudded to the floor like living rag dolls. Totally without respect. Without any of the reverence or fanfare that was so unmistakable before. I had no idea what brought this change in the ants’ attitude. These were more like ants as I knew them to be. Unemotional. Knowledge and behavior that was innate, inborn. Reacting according to instinct and chemical communications. I could feel it growing: a heavy weight inside my chest that pressed against my heart, probably created by the bothersome thought in my head that said we needed to find our way home before we found ourselves at the bottom of the food chain. Earlier, I had begun to trust the ants and have confidence in their appearance at our door. Now, that trust was disappearing quickly. Yes, I know that I have often referred to our chamber as a prison or a cell. Even so, I had begun to grow comfortable there, to feel somewhat safe. Now, it was truly a prison, and my comfort level was sinking rapidly.
The ants that brought us to our cell remained after they dropped us to the floor. I became very uncomfortable, very quickly. I watched their heads sway slowly on what should be their necks, twisting and turning with a certain evil. They were sizing us up exactly as the jumping spiders had done earlier. Their antennae carved the air slowly, intentionally, as if being arranged and rearranged to catch some secret that passed invisibly through space. Their jaws opened and closed for the entire time they stood. The grating and clicking sounds of those gnashing swords scared me more than you can imagine. Even though I knew it was impossible, I swear I could see saliva drip from their bony mouth parts. This only confirmed my growing distrust and my ever increasing fear of becoming ant food. My heart rate was definitely on the increase, but finally, two of the ants turned and departed through our exit one after the other. One stayed too much longer. Thomas had already assumed a perfectly defensive stance: legs planted for stability, sword at the ready. He must have been reading my mind all along. I followed his lead and wished that Sarrah could do the same. Of the three of us, she was most vulnerable. I heard the clicking of jaws come from outside of our door. One of the ants that had exited returned to find the one that remained. Those two rubbed antennae and mouth parts for what seemed like an eternity. I wished, then, that I understood what they were saying to each other, but I could only imagine. Yes, dear. I know you want to eat them. They do look delicious, don’t they? But, we can’t. Not now. Save them for dessert. The thought of becoming bug food wasn’t really pleasant, but it did have its humorous side. Finally, though, they both headed for the exit. A wave of relief washed over the length of my spine. I’m sure that Thomas had the same reaction. Thomas stayed put, but I went to the door. I needed to peek outside to see what was going on. Two guards remained at the doorway. Apparently, the need to guard us still existed. I wondered why.
I returned to the center of our chamber to be with the others. Thomas plopped onto the ground, but he was sitting erect and aware, expecting me to join him. Sarrah had already taken a seat on the floor next to Thomas, but she was still in what I would call a state of shock. She wasn’t quite as far gone as earlier, but she was still not really aware, not really awake, not quite accepting of either Brian’s disappearance or Grandpa’s death. I remember that moment like it was yesterday, Debbie. I had never felt so alone, even though I was with two very important members of my family. My emotional state was far different from just being alone. Deeper. Hurtful. A huge part of me had died. I missed Grandpa’s wisdom. I missed Brian’s antics. I missed the laughs. I wanted them back. I began to see Brian’s side of the argument, the importance he associated with the ability to bring the dead back. I wanted Grandpa back. I wanted Brian back. It just was so…so quiet. So dark. That was the emotional side of me. The rational side of me knew what I had experienced. Knew that the spider that had returned to life wasn’t really alive. Knew that he was fueled by evil. Knew that it could never be.
The chamber was as quiet as falling snow, at least until Sarrah sobbed in the dim, slime-green shadows. She, at least, had found the courage to let her feelings come to the surface. But, as a family, I knew we had to do more. Thomas and I both crawled closer to Sarrah. It was definitely time for a group hug. The three of us hugged each other, got as close to each other as physics would allow. I could feel their warmth, and I could feel both of them shaking. I probably was too, but, for now at least, the feeling of that closeness, of that simple hug, was very comforting. All I wanted to do was embrace that closeness for as long as possible. Sarrah began to hug me much tighter than Thomas did. I could feel her begin to calm. It took a long while, but eventually I could feel Sarrah almost relax, as if she were beginning to accept what she had experienced. Sarrah was actually the first of our group to speak, though she did so with difficulty through sniffles and through sinuses plugged by long periods of semi-controlled crying.
“I wish Grandpa was s-still alive. He would help us find Brian. He would bring Brian back. I know he would,” she sniffed.
Her words were much more than voiced emotion; they were an open door. Actually, it was more like an open dam. Apparently, Thomas had been taking mental notes, and he had been waiting.
“It’s only the three of us now, but it’s no different than before,” he began. “Look at what we’ve done, what we’ve been able to accomplish. All of us. We found the door. We found Grandpa. We fought insect battles and killed spiders. We taught the ants how to do the same. We have all survived—even Brian. We’ve been able to do that because of everything Grandpa taught us over the years. We still have that. We always will. We just have to regroup, to get it back together. We still have one thing more to do. We have to go home.”
“We s-still have what?” Sarrah asked. I wasn’t sure exactly what she meant, but Thomas answered her question. It was one possible answer. Maybe it was the right one.
“We still have what Grandpa taught us, Sarrah. We still have those skills
. We still have that wisdom. Most importantly, we still have each other.” Thomas always was the logical one. He could always bring us right back to the beginning, give us a fresh start, get us on the right track.
“Where do we start?” I asked. The task was formidable, way too big for me. I was still lost in my emotions, still lost in the fact that Grandpa was dead and in the fact that Brian had disappeared.
“Where do we start?” Thomas repeated. “How do you think Grandpa would have answered that question, Hannah?”
I knew that answer. I knew it from deep inside. “Grandpa would have said we need to start at the beginning.”
By now, Sarrah had dried her tears and was watching the exchange between me and Thomas. “Yes. Yes, that’s exactly what he would have s-said,” she whispered with a muted excitement that hinted at hope.
“But, where is the beginning? The beginning of what?” I said.
Thomas was uncanny; he always had the right answer, even if the answer was a question. “Where do you think the beginning is?”
“It started a long time ago,” I began. “It started with Grandpa when we were very young. He was constantly teaching us. Constantly pointing things out. Constantly asking questions. Even more, he was constantly expecting us to find our own answers.”
I could have gone on, but Sarrah broke in, full of life, and full of confidence. “Grandpa was always teaching us how to find our way home. Every time we went into the woods, he would stop, ask us to listen, ask us what we had seen, what we had passed, what we had heard. He always asked us to point towards home. There was a reason for that. ”
The energy began to grow. It was exactly what we needed: that nudge, that simple direction. “You’re right. Both of you,” Thomas continued. “Grandpa taught us a lot. He taught us how to point toward home. He taught us how to ask questions and how to find their answers.”
Grandpa's Portal Page 14
