The Dreaming Demon

by Alex Avrio

  “I showed you the journal because I think you are the most suited to organize this expedition to the Americas. I shall finance it. So, what say you?”

  I mumbled that such things need thought, planning, organizing. They cannot be done at the whim of the moment. She just shook her head.

  “It is now or never,” she said. “There is nothing that can’t be done when money is available.”

  And with that my last resistance crumbled. It was as if reason had deserted me and I readily agreed to everything. I returned to my house and immediately began preparations with an unprecedented fervour. I wrote highly persuasive letters to colleagues mounting support and seeking their participation. My reputation was adequate to persuade scientists of good standing in their profession to join our expedition. I wrote to a certain sea captain I had collaborated with on previous expeditions to secure his participation and his ship to cross the ocean. Everything fell in place with extraordinary speed. It was as if the gods of fortune were smiling upon us. Or the devils of misfortune. I remained in contact with Lady Athelton, informing her constantly of our progress and the expenses required. The name of Athelton may be slightly unsavoury to some but the money was not.

  #

  I have to confess that I created some pretexts to visit her again. She accepted me each time with great grace and was an excellent hostess. She asked insightful and intelligent questions about the expedition and its progress. I noted the Lady Athelton was greatly interested in literature, arts, and science, and unlike other ladies of her social standing had read extensively around the subjects. I wondered how many books from her library she had read. How many from the forbidden section. I had asked about the missing pages from the monk’s diary but she told me they were missing since before her husband acquired the journal. A part of me was not surprised at all when she announced her intention to join the expedition. I was secretly pleased to have the pleasure of her company during the sea voyage. I informed my colleagues about her coming and in good conscience overcame their objections about a woman following such a difficult expedition by assuring them that she would accompany us only until the last point of civilization and there await our return. I had not intended to mislead them or indeed lie. That was my own sincere belief.

  #

  Wherever there is an abundance of money, the best of everything is acquired and things are swiftly set in motion. We set sail in the Abigail on a clear morning with favourable winds. It was an uneventful journey. I spent time with my colleagues discussing various aspects of sciences, debating current theories and speculating about what we might find in the jungle. I had been instructed not to mention the journal or the serpent people and I followed the wish of our financier. Lady Athelton made frequent appearances and joined our long discussions, charming everyone with her eloquence and grace. She was accompanied in this journey by Captain Allen, a trusted friend and relative. Although the man gave me no reason to mistrust him there was something vague that made me wary of his presence, as a rabbit smelling a wolf hiding in the shadows.

  The days passed quickly and uneventfully. One or two of the scientists succumbed to sea sickness and were glad when the vessel arrived at its destination. I was among the fortunate that remained unaffected by any kind of motion sickness. Upon setting foot on the native soil both Lady Athelton and Captain Allen became more alert and impatient, resembling hunting dogs smelling their prize but not yet able see it. It took a few days to assemble fresh supplies, arrange for native guides and porters, and to present our letters of introduction to the local authorities. My friend von Athens, who was a superb illustrator, amused himself sketching and drawing the vistas of the town and the members of our expedition. For some it would be only their portraits and personal effects that returned.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Guardians of the Serpent

  FINALLY the day came that we could begin our journey inland. The locals had thought our expedition ill advised, and talked of sickness, robbers and bad spirits lying in wait for us. But the promise of good wages had lured the guides and porters and, combined with the blessing of the local priest acquired after a sizable donation to the local church, everything fell in place. It was at this point where my colleagues and I thought that Lady Athelton and her companion would wait for us. But she announced her intention to come with us and not miss a moment of our expedition. She listened to our protests that it was no place for a woman and she would only hinder the expedition. For the first time she was not so charming and there was something fierce and cruel in her face. With a cold voice she said that if she did not come she would withdraw her finance and each one of us could make his own way home. That settled matters very quickly. Captain Allen had not spoken a word but looked at us as Lady Athelton was speaking, measuring each of us up.

  #

  We followed the footsteps of the monk as described in his journal. The first days of the trek were uneventful, the landscape was easy to navigate and the weather was pleasantly warm. As we moved further inland it became more humid and oppressive and we were plagued by mosquitoes. Lady Athelton never uttered a word of complaint, but only asked about our progress. The happiest among us was von Athens, sketching in his notebooks anything that caught his eye.

  When we finally arrived at the last village before entering the jungle, the natives welcomed us with the enthusiasm of a young child but strongly advised us against going into the jungle as there were evil spirits lurking. Lady Athelton’s ears only pricked when the elders mentioned the dreaming demon who calls out for her children. Whatever you do, they said, do not answer her call, for she is the Mother of Serpents. Some of the scientists were sniggering at the superstitions, others were noting them down and asking more questions as the native folklore was within their instincts.

  It was only now that my naïve mind started making the connection between the journal, Lady Athelton’s interest and the stories of the natives. There was something that she had not told me, something only she, and maybe Captain Allen, knew. The only certainty was that Ferdinand de Castile had accurately transcribed what the natives believed. It was thoughts such as these that circled my mind and did not let me sleep. There was also a faint noise like a beating heart. I have been on other expeditions and am familiar with the sounds of the great outdoors. This song of darkness was new to me. Nevertheless I listened to it with great fascination. In the morning I expected to be fatigued after a night of sleeplessness. However, I was strangely invigorated.

  One of the team woke with a fever and we decided that he would be best left in the care of the natives. Lady Athelton readily agreed. She looked refreshed, while Captain Allen had not benefited from a good night’s sleep. Before we headed into the jungle the tribal elder spoke to me and tried to dissuade me from going. He told me there were legends about the ruins of an abhorred place which was guarded by a fierce tribe of warriors. No one had ever returned alive. I thanked him but we were determined to go. I thought that someone must have returned or how would they know of these things? The elder sighed shaking his head at the white men’s stubbornness. He gave us his blessing, wished us well and said he hoped from the bottom of his heart to see us again.

  Once we had stepped into the jungle it was like passing through a green veil into another world. The sights, smells and sounds were beyond anything we had imagined. The guides had to hack our way with machetes every foot of the way. Some took advantage of our slow progress and collected many samples of plants, bulbs and leaves, while others were taking up specimens of insects and small animals. Von Athens was furiously sketching and painting the samples that were brought to him, the jungle landscape, the brilliantly coloured birds, and the jewel-like flowers. On one occasion a jaguar attacked us. I had scarcely time to look in its golden eyes before Captain Allen shot it. Von Athens was saddened by the demise of such a beautiful creature and immortalized it in one of his paintings, sleeping on a branch over a green canopy. The guides swiftly skinned it and we took its pelt with us.

>   Our progress was slow but steady. As we walked towards the city there was an imperceptible change in the atmosphere. Something was watching us. There was a feeling of heaviness, a feeling of approaching dread among our members, though no one could pin point why. Ayecliff said he felt like a fly about to get caught in a spider’s web. Von Athens spoke to me in private. He asked me if I had any strange dreams. I enquired what was wrong. He said that he did not remember most of it but he woke up with the feeling of a vast cold emptiness. A feeling of nameless horror seeping from his fingers as he woke, the sound of a drum beating in his ears. I reassured him that it was the effects of travelling in the jungle, of fatigue, humidity, stress, and insect bites. He seemed to accept my explanations, but I was deeply troubled for I had the same dreams. I remembered more than him. I remembered travelling through a freezing void filled with stars. I remembered the whispers that promised power, strength, longevity and knowledge. Knowledge beyond any human dream, knowledge of the gods. But there was also the terror hiding in the darkness, an unspeakable price to be paid.

  #

  Before dawn I awoke and with inexplicable certainty I knew Lady Athelton had been hiding things from me. Most importantly, the missing pages from Ferdinand de Castile’s journal. I walked to her tent but she was already awake. She looked at me and her eyes had an eerie sparkle in the darkness not unlike the jaguar we had slain.

  “You hear it too,” she whispered, surprised.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “It has been driving Allen so insane that he cannot hear anything else.”

  I intended to question her about the dreams and the drumming but first I wanted the pages. She did not deny that she had them. She handed them over without protest. For what good that it did. I had barely time to read a paragraph, how Ferdinand de Castile had deceived the guardians of the serpent, when those same guardians were upon us.

  Within minutes we were all disarmed and caught like animals in a trap, most of us thinking that this must be a terrible nightmare. I remembered that the Indians had not harmed Ferdinand de Castile, but that had been a long time ago and the Spanish had since decimated their people. We were marched to the tribal village, to the council of elders. There we were asked who we were and what we wanted. I used a guide as an interpreter.

  I explained that we were explorers and meant no harm to them.

  “What is an explorer?” they asked.

  “A seeker of knowledge.”

  “There is no knowledge here. Only death.”

  Then the council began discussing among themselves. Something that sounded of paramount importance. We stayed there for hours not daring to interrupt. I tried to ask the guide to translate but he shook his head in fear. I pressed him but all he would say was that they were debating what should be done with the chosen ones. I asked him to explain but he would not utter another word.

  I used the time to make peace with my God. I had known and accepted the risk of never returning home. Hostile natives, wild animals and diseases were well known perils of an explorer’s life. Some of my colleagues were not that reconciled with the idea of their untimely deaths. Lady Athelton and Captain Allen remained calm and stoic. Finally our fate was decided.

  The elder spoke and our guide translated.

  “There are among you those who have been chosen by the Mother of Serpents. We shall not stop you going into The City, for weak as she is we still fear her wrath. But we shall not permit any of the serpent people to leave this place and spread their evil to the world. You may enter but if you return you shall be tried and judged.” Lady Athelton and Captain Allen nodded in agreement, a little too quickly for my liking.

  The chief pointed to Lady Athelton, Captain Allen, von Athens and me.

  “You may go into The City. Your people will stay here. We shall provide for them and if you do not return after a moon, then we shall return them to the edge of the jungle where they will find their way to the white people.”

  I do not know who was more shocked and afraid, my colleagues who had to stay with the keepers of the serpent, or von Athens and I who had to go to The City. Lady Athelton and Captain Allen looked very pleased at this outcome.

  The elder took me aside and spoke so that only I could hear.

  “Are you the leader of this tribe?”

  I said I was.

  “You must know that even to see The City will change you forever. You may still lose your mind even without the Mother of Serpents defiling you. I shall give you this warning. There is darkness in two of you. One is innocent. And one is tempted.”

  I wished the old man would speak openly instead of giving cryptic warnings, but maybe this was part of the test he spoke of. I knew the two filled with darkness and secrets. If I had not been so naïve and trusting, so filled with thirst for knowledge and scientific learning I would have realized earlier. I was surprised about von Athens. He also had the dreams, heard the calls of the dreaming demon. Was he tempted by what it offered?

  We were given provisions, taken to the edge of the clearing and pointed in the direction of The City. It was a day away.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The City

  WE walked slowly, von Athens and I like convicted men to the gallows, Lady Athelton and Captain Allen like neophytes to their first confirmation. I felt my head become lighter, slowly losing the ability to think and observe. I recognized the onset of a fever. I looked for von Athens, and he passed me some water, but I could tell he was beginning to suffer from the same fever. I was feeling the deep primal urge to turn on my heels and run. The same primal feeling as our ancestors when wrapped in furs, traces of the ape still in them as Darwin assures us, sensed with senses now lost to us a great saber tooth horror prowling the night, set on their blood. Yet there was a force pushing me onwards, stronger than the instinct of self-preservation. I was iron drawn to a magnetic pole. I glanced at von Athens and saw the same struggle in his face. Lady Athelton and Captain Allen were walking with reverence towards their quest for forbidden knowledge. They had both tricked me into organizing this expedition. They were not interested in the advancement of science, in finding new cities and civilizations, salvaging the untold riches, gold and jewels of this city. They desired the secrets of the dreaming demon, to harness the power of the serpent people. But certain knowledge was never meant to be revealed to humans.

  I did not know how we got to the edges of the city. Darkness began to fall and both von Athens and I refused to enter the city until morning. Lady Athelton threw into a fit of anger but Captain Allen calmed her down. They had waited for so long. Another night would not matter. I cannot begin to describe the dreams I had or the song of the dreaming demon. But I remember that the jungle was as silent as the grave. Not a single sound from animal, bird or insect. Not even the infernal mosquitoes flew near this city.

  I have never dreaded dawn as I did that day. But it came, shining its golden light on the ruins. We walked into The City. The silence was so complete our own footsteps echoed like rolling thunder. We turned our heads upwards to look at the cyclopean structures. Von Athens, despite himself, took out his notebook and made quick sketches. I felt vaguely dizzy. The crumbling buildings were so tall that I feared they would swoop down and devour us. As we walked on ancient cobblestones past buildings the purpose of which I could not divine, a terrible thought entered my mind. The same thought must also have crossed von Athens’s mind for he approached me and showed me his sketch. It was becoming apparent to both of us that the proportions of this city were wrong, at least as far as man would perceive them.

  I approached a wall and touched the stones. They were warm and as my hand lay upon them a humming entered my mind, a song I could not translate. The masonry was of a kind I’d never seen before. The stones fit perfectly together but no mortar had been used. It was as if they had been fused together, yet that would have been impossible. The City was already a half forgotten legend when the monk was told about it. It was much older than any of the other cities
of the native culture. Egypt had been lost to us and been an obscure legend before the Rosetta stone was found. Then we realized that it stretched back thousands of years before the birth of Christ. Could this be the case with this city? I had the same feeling of great antiquity here as I had when I visited sites in Egypt and the Middle East. Schliemann had followed a book, the epics from Homer, and uncovered a dream, Troy. I had followed a journal, the ravings of a lunatic, and uncovered this nightmare.

  Our footsteps were inevitably leading us to the pyramid structure in the centre of the city, a spider in the hub of its web. It completely dwarfed the rest of the city, an impressive feat considering the size of everything. The pyramid stretching to the sky had a temple of sorts built on its flat square top.

  Von Athens had stopped and was making a quick sketch. Admiring his ability to keep a record of the expedition even under these circumstances I approached him. He had found a relief of epic proportions. It was the first we had come across. The Serpent People were taking prisoners in the hundreds to the pyramid. They were towering over their captives, dressed in jaguar pelts and grinning with savage delight, showing sharp pointed teeth. They were built so powerfully that the captives looked almost like children before them. Their weapons were terrifying. There was unison in their movements that transcended military discipline. They all mirrored each other, everyone in perfect tune with the next. I had seen other ancient reliefs where the victors were larger that the defeated in a display of dominance. I wanted to believe that was the case here, but there was something in this relief that did not match the multitude of other ancient victory proclamations. There was no pompous bragging. It was all just a matter of fact, the relief was a record of what happened rather than a triumphant exaggeration, which made the rest more terrifying.

  On top of the pyramid the Serpent Priests were sacrificing the prisoners. A prisoner was lying on an altar, his chest cut open, his heart removed by the priest. His body would soon be rolling down steps of the pyramid as those of his unfortunate comrades before him. I observed a great number of bodies stacked at the base of the pyramid. What disturbed me was the Serpent People there. They were feasting on the bodies of the wretched dead. Their size was smaller, roughly the same as the captives and I wondered if the Serpent People knew of perspective in their art. But then my stomach lurched as I saw the much larger figures of Serpent People among them, and with the greatest of horrors comprehended that they were feeding their young.