by Chris Smith
***
James had been exploring these thoughts — his understandings - about the pack since leaving the scorpion bees behind in the garden. In particular, he’d been thinking about how the pack had turned on him the instant Pete had reacted aggressively to the notorious portrait. Feeding off their leader’s hatred, the pack had mustered together as one force to confront him on the playing field. Anticipating that blood would be spilled, even the geeks were bold enough to join in. The events of the day had then snowballed out of James’ control.
Thinking about these past events, although regretful, did not result in James becoming angry. On the contrary, he kept his mood in check by frequently referring to the seed as an indicator of his frame of mind. So far the seed had maintained its original state: it was still dancing with a multitude of colours, without a hint of black. James’ whole intent in exploring his situation was to understand how the social system worked. With the cause of his problems clearly identified he would be able to confront the issues and find resolution.
The trouble was that everybody was trying to improve his or her position, to climb another rung in order to be closer to the top, James decided. Even Pete was caught up in the fever of the game, but in his case he aspired to be like the boys in the higher years. If he were to get out of line they would undoubtedly slap him down too. James contemplated how the lucky few at the top desperately attempted to preserve their position by keeping those beneath them down. Those in the pack, for the most part, strived to raise their standing, believing success would bring power, contentment, prestige and ultimately happiness. One more rung and life would become easier. James knew too well the hidden price of such endeavours. A price they all appeared either not to acknowledge or to ignore, as James had done. The price was that of self-respect.
It was apparent to James that a pattern was at play. The importance of how others viewed you became elevated above how you regarded yourself and if that meant demeaning someone else to improve your outlook, then so be it. The whole school played along, shamefully selling out their dignity while striving to move one-step closer to the top. What else could James do but join in? That was the game and no matter how often he failed at it, he felt compelled to at least attempt to play. For how else could he climb out of his cesspit of a life? But the shame of his spineless actions, the burden of his failures, and the embarrassment of his humiliations lived with him for days after. He wondered if it was the same for everyone.
All through this reasoning the seed remained normal, reflecting James’ undisturbed mood. However, his environment had changed. He’d followed the guiding light through the forest and they had now emerged from the woodlands into some open fields covered in a dark mist, ankle deep. The foot of the mountain could be seen in the distance; at last his destination was in sight, although the journey across to the base appeared lengthy and James knew that there would be an arduous climb at the end of it which he would have to conquer. But out in the open for now James’ spirits lifted. He no longer needed the guiding light to navigate his way, so he was able to continue exploring his thoughts on ‘the pack’. The dark loathsome fog at his ankles grew and thickened until he was wading through it knee deep. It was tough going, and even after trudging through the fog for hours the mountain didn’t seem any closer. But the seed remained clear and his mind, still protected by the helmet, continued reasoning with great clarity. James wasn’t particularly worried about his situation and allowed his thoughts to flow, hoping for comprehension.
Someone walking towards him through the fog interrupted his reverie. James squinted at the outlined figure of a man, an old man perhaps? No, he was too well built. The shape provoked a memory. He studied the figure’s movement; that strut was familiar. The fog swirled around the figure’s legs. James saw that it was dressed in armour like an ancient warlord, a sort of samurai warrior. The figure held his face down, shielding it from James’ view.
‘Who are you? What do you want?’ James asked as the warrior stopped before him, almost within reach.
‘Seize him!’
Out of the fog sprang a small army of warriors; they had secretly crept beneath the blanket of fog to surround him. Several ropes made of the smoky fog lassoed James’ arms securely to his body. Two more warriors stepped forward alongside their leader. James’ face fell, his mind thrown off balance, his heart lurching wildly as he tried to comprehend the implications of the three rotting, flesh-eaten faces of the warriors standing before him.
The contemptuous, spiteful and hate-filled faces of Pete, Jake and Gus confronted him, their images every bit as ugly and decayed as he had painted them. Even so, he couldn’t help but admire their magnificent battle-scarred armour. Behind them their seven lieutenants, all familiar faces, huddled. Their armour was less splendid and quite varied in quality and state of repair. Surrounding James more than ten deep was the rest of the pack, all clothed in simple chain mail vests, baying for his blood. Sick with anticipation, James felt the familiar chill of fear swirling like the fog.
Pete shouted a command. With a thud something hit James at the back of his knees. He collapsed, kneeling before Pete like a prisoner of war.
‘Bow your head!’ Gus’s hand slapped him across the back of his head. The helmet fell, smashing on the ground and breaking into a thousand pieces.
‘No, not that!’
‘Be quiet, scum.’ Jake kicked him in the back and James toppled over. Restrained by his lassoed arms he was unable to break his fall and fell heavily onto his side. His hand was crushed beneath his hip causing the seed to spill from his grasp. Jake pulled him up with the rope, bent down and picked up the brilliant seed from the ground.
‘What’s this? Are you a girl? Like jewellery do you? It’s crap mate, really.’
James recognised the words used on the playing field to demean his paintings before they were destroyed. With all his might Jake threw the seed away, deep into the fog.
‘No!’ James shouted.
Jake slapped him across his head. ‘Be quiet’, he commanded. The pack cheered in approval, even the geeks. ’Pray for your pathetic life,’ Jake hissed. Snorting, he spat a huge black mass of snot into James’ face. The phlegm slithered down his neck, leaving behind a burning trail of acid eating at his flesh. Restrained by the ropes James was unable to react. He wanted to retaliate, to hit him and hurt him. Instead he did what he always did. He took the contemptuous spite thrown at him without protest, trying to shrug it off as if it didn’t matter. But it did.
Pete stepped to the front. ‘I’ll tell you what, Maggot, all you have to do is follow me. If you can show me you are worthy, I’ll let you join us.’
A smile slithered across Jake’s face.
‘On your belly,’ shouted Gus. He encouraged James to the floor with a sharp kick. This time the ropes evaporated as he fell, allowing him to brace against the impact in time. Submerged under the fog James didn’t see the trap being laid until it was too late. The warriors organised themselves into two lines facing each other. When they were ready, the fog lifted between their ranks to reveal to James the channel of warriors. In the distance, James saw a simple piece of armour lying on the ground. On his hands and knees he attempted to back out, but Gus’ huge legs blocked his retreat.
Pete entered the gauntlet and stepped in front of him. James was still on all fours, like an animal, and his nose was nearly touching the back of Pete’s thighs. The pack waited. James waited. The fog settled, almost motionless. James put himself on alert to sprint on his hands and knees. He waited for the starting gun, whatever it might be; he’d be ready. One of the warriors in the gauntlet shuffled his feet. James sensed their growing impatience. Reacting to a loud thunderclap reverberating out of Pete’s behind, James lurched forward, thrusting his nose into Pete’s arse. The pack exploded with laughter. The stench swirled like the fog around James’ nose.
‘Oops, too many beans I’m afraid, Gus,’ said Pete jovially. With tears of mirth rolling down their faces the
leaders struggled to keep their composure.
‘Begin crawling.’ Pete only just managed to force out the order between fits of laughter. ‘That (he pointed to the armour lying on the ground) is yours if you can reach it. Follow me.’
Still giggling, Pete meandered ahead as James crawled behind him on hands and knees. He kept a safe distance from Pete’s backside but the original smell was still with him. He expected the warriors to kick as he progressed through the gauntlet, but they didn’t. Instead, they spat at him. The spit rained down from both sides. James made painstaking progressed behind Pete. The phlegm first burnt the exposed areas of his skin and then, once his clothes had become saturated, the skin underneath became hot too. But the thought of owning the armour, of belonging, kept him going. These desires overrode all reasoning, overrode the humiliation of being farted on by Pete and overrode the burning pain from the spit. The rocks on the ground hurt his hand and knees but he stubbornly refused to stop. Eventually James reached the prize. With great pride he rose to his feet and without delay pulled what appeared to be a rather magnificent chest plate over his head.
‘Hey, Pete!’ James felt bigger than ever.
‘Not so fast,’ Pete smiled. ‘You’ve only just started. There’s more to get.’ Up ahead between the ranks laid another piece of armour. The gauntlet reformed with the lines of warriors ready to resume their onslaught.
‘I’ll let you walk this time,’ Pete said. ‘You’ve earned it.’ Once on his feet James saw that they were now in a hole in the fog which was enclosing them, blocking his view so that he had no idea where he was. But it didn’t matter because he had his first piece of armour; he was on his way to joining their ranks.
See, he’s letting me walk; I’m winning them over, James thought. He resumed his journey through the gauntlet of hate, his flesh rotting away as the acid did its work. The chest plate, although magnificent, provided little protection as the pack targeted his vulnerable spots: face, neck, arms and hands. Skilful in their aiming, the warriors even managed to direct spit so that it slithered under the chest plate. Pete moved at a tedious pace, allowing plenty of time for everyone in the pack to have a go at him.
At last James reached his destination. A plain metal-plated glove waited for him. Pete picked the glove up and threw it at him nonchalantly. James slid the glove over his hand, his face wincing as the metal tore at the acid-eaten flesh on his fingers. He held his hand aloft. Flexing his fingers, he admired the gauntlet.
‘I’ll smash his face in with this.’ The image of the Shadow filled his mind’s eye.
‘Like it?’ asked Peter.
‘You bet’.
‘The other one’s up there.’ Pete smiled. ‘Are you sure you want it?’
‘Of course I do.’ If one glove gave him this sense of power, what would two do?
Again the walk took forever, but James focused on the waiting trophy. This time he barely noticed the spit, let alone the time. When he took possession of the second gauntlet he felt like he’d made it, believing he looked every bit as strong as some of the others in the pack.
‘So that’s it, then. ’ James stated while enjoying the feeling of power and admiring his hands dressed in the gloves. ‘I’m part of the gang now, hey?’
‘No, no, my boy.’ Pete sounded a bit like Grandpa for a moment. ‘You’ve got to prove yourself worthy yet, by wining one of these.’ He pointed at a fantastic glass medal on his chest, adorned with the crest of two dragons, one white, one black.
‘The only thing is you’ll have to take it from me,’ he paused and then laughed, ‘or one of them.’ Each of the pack wore a similar medal although the material and quality varied substantially. ‘Bring me a medal. That’s the final hurdle.’
The challenge didn’t shock him. Having run the gauntlet this far, he recognized what he’d sort of known since first seeing the warriors: if he wanted to belong in their tribe he’d have to fight his way in, win his credentials by force. He’d have to take someone’s place by relegating them to his. James committed himself to the task and started walking the gauntlet looking for Burley. Burley was his best hope, the easy target, but deep down James knew he wouldn’t be there; Burley was a weirdo too. Spit met him whenever he peered into someone’s face. None of the other options looked soft.
James attempted a quick grab from one of the weaker geeks. What he wasn’t expecting though was the protection the boy received from his clique. They rallied instantly to support their mate, attempting to block James, pushing him and aggressively spitting in his face. Undaunted, James fought hard and succeeded in grabbing the medal from the boy’s chest. He wrestled furiously to retain possession as the geek’s mates tried to get it back. Determined not to surrender, James held on. Having got this far, he wasn’t about to give up. He pulled away sharply and to his great delight managed to break free. Desperate to claim his place James raced to Pete with the Prize.
‘Look, I’ve got it, I’ve done it.’
Pete smiled but the smile did not reach his eyes. James’ heart lifted. He’d succeeded; he’d won through. Against all the odds he’d conquered the gauntlet, taken everything thrown at him, submitted to their humiliation and still won. He held the medal aloft. The decoration was no more glamorous than a dented piece of tin; nevertheless, he held the painted crest of two dragons, one white, one black. It was the symbol they all wore.
From behind him a massive hand lent across and grasped his wrist. Gus’s grip held his hand like a vice. Powerless to pull it away James clenched the tin object into his fist. With his other hand Gus ripped the medal from James’ fingers then let go of him. James held his hurt arm close to his chest. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gus’ massive frame turn and toss the medal back to the geek.
‘No, you can’t do that. It’s not fair.’
‘Once you’ve got it James, you’ve got to keep it, fool.’ Pete stated.
Distraught, James paced in a circle. It wasn’t right; he’d won it fair and square. That medal belonged to him. All he needed was the medal and then everything would be different, better. However, the prospect of attaining his goal now appeared further away than ever. It was ludicrous to think they would ever let him be a part of their tribe, he lamented, because even if he did manage to fight his way in, it was clear that he’d never be secure. James looked at one of his flesh-eaten arms. The phlegm was doing its work, slowly turning him into a rotting flesh-eaten zombie like ‘them’, just as he’d painted their faces in hatred. Then, for the first time since emerging from the forest, he remembered the guiding light. He had been so confident of his path that he’d forgotten his guide. He looked for a hint of its glow but too many bodies blocked his view. His heart filled with a deep longing to be near its warming radiance, to break free from being spat on, to get out of this dammed gauntlet that trapped him.
’Come on, have another go,’ Pete whispered in his ear. ‘You almost did it.’ The helmet and seed were gone, destroyed and lost, but the light would be somewhere nearby, witnessing the hatred being spat on him in the gauntlet. James was sure the guide wouldn’t abandon him.
‘Don’t be pathetic and give in like a girl. You’ll do it next time, keep going.’
‘No, I’m not going to,’ James replied.
‘You waste of space,’ Jake spat out the words, ‘Ungrateful scum, look what Pete is offering you.’
‘Hit him Jake.’
Jake snorted up the foulest black snot he could muster. James ducked, refusing to accept the degradation. The phlegm flew harmlessly past. As Jake started to snort up another, Pete raised his hand, intervening.
‘Listen Maggot, if you get it again I promise Gus won’t interfere. I’ll let you in,’ Pete said. ‘I promise, okay?’
For a split second James believed him. He was almost seduced into walking the gauntlet again, ready to find the weakest geek and have a go. However, his attitude had changed. He’d received enough spitefulness for a lifetime from these thugs so he stood firm, without ac
knowledging or crediting Pete with a response.
‘Take his armour!’ Pete commanded ‘Didn’t think you’d get to keep it, did you?’ he smiled. ‘And just so we are absolutely clear, we’ll be with you every step of the way.’
The pack attacked. They ripped his hard won armour from him unceremoniously.
‘You’re a Frigging disgrace.’
Feeling vulnerable, James started to push his way through the pack. He had no idea where he was heading but, motivated by the need to break free, he figured any direction would do. However, every time he managed to make some progress the pack would surround him again, forcing him to confront them. Jake and Gus led from the front as they made numerous attempts to push him down, intent on getting him to crawl like a slug. James refused to submit anymore, refused to cave in, and kept going.
The pack spat out their attacks thick and fast. James’ only choice was to try to ignore the burning acid of their contempt. He kept pushing on, feeling somewhat better because he was now facing their hatred on his terms. He noted the predictability of the warriors’ attacks. The signs indicating an impending assault started with a long nasal snort. This allowed the warrior to muster the foulest contents available into their mouths. Next, the neck recoiled backwards before catapulting forward to shoot the foul projectile at the intended target. This predictable loading and firing meant James was able to start taking evasive action. He avoided some but not all of the attacks. The few that got through he simply ignored; the burning sensation caused by the spit now seemed a little less painful. James assumed he had become conditioned to the sensation. But his situation was also improved by the fact that his assailants’ ammunition had began to dry up, rendering them unable to maintain the ferocity of their assault. James kept pushing forward; as he did, he became aware that there were times when he could have easily have stolen a medal. Pete knew it too.
‘Go on, do it, you can take it now.’ Pete kept reiterating his promise. But James knew that if he allowed himself to be seduced he would forever have to defend his position. And then they’d ask him to perform, to acquire a better medal. There would be no end; he’d have to keep jumping to their tune. He made up his mind to refuse to play the game anymore.
The impotent warriors could no longer muster their projectiles. James could see that they were exhausted. The fog receded slowly and along with its retreat the warriors withdrew one by one. Finally, James faced Pete alone. A small blanket of fog swirled at his adversary’s ankles. Pete stared him in the eye. James thought he saw a fleeting hint of respect flicker across his face; however, it was gone in a flash. Pete’s face resumed the normal expression of abhorrence reserved specially for him. He gave James the finger. Without a word, he turned and followed his retreating army into the distance. James watched until they were gone. Confident of victory assured he turned, ready to continue his journey, hopeful of finding the guiding light waiting for him. With the fog gone the reality of his progress became clear; he was struck by the wonderful realisation that his journey was nearly over. A short distance ahead James saw the sheer face of the mountain. He struggled to believe he’d navigated his way to his destination. He couldn’t see the top but he knew that high above, the king’s temple awaited his arrival. The mountain’s massive size was daunting, but the astonishing fact that he’d somehow made it here without the light gave James the confidence he needed. He scanned the area looking for the guide’s glow or, failing that, a way up to the top. Ascent appeared impossible, however. The rocky face was almost vertical and there were no obvious handholds or route to the top. There has to be a way though, James thought. Someone built that thing up there.
While he was considering his options, the best of which was probably to circumnavigate the mountain until he discovered a viable climb, James began to feel uneasy. Once again he could sense the eyes of a spy watching his movements. He didn’t understand how though because there was nowhere for the intruder to hide, just the rocky mountain and the open landscape into which the warriors had retreated. James dismissed the feeling, believing it to be a figment of his imagination. Having put the idea to the back of his mind he returned to the problem at hand: how to scale the impossible mountain?
Before leaving to explore his options around the mountain James allowed his eyes to flicker one last time across the surface of the rock. A glint embedded in the rock caught his attention at the last moment. With great delight he recognised the sparkle of the guiding light, perched in a hole in the rock face. He walked closer. The hole was just above his waist. He bent down, noticing that around the hole someone had carved a magnificent eye into the rock. Wondering why he hadn’t seen it sooner he shuffled closer, now within reach. The light receded into the hole, vanishing into the midst of the mountain’s face. James leaned forward peering into the hole through the pupil of the eye. For a split second he thought he saw a dark eye looking back at him. He blinked and it was gone. James surveyed the eye, placing his hand over the eyeball. It felt loose in his grasp; he turned it clockwise. The ground shuddered and dust fell from the face of the wall. Slowly a door swung open. James didn’t hesitate: he walked through the opening, to be greeted by the guiding light waiting for him on the other side.
Chapter Ten: Underneath the Skin
