Into the Light- Lost in Translation

by Michael White

  Paul began to claw his way through the waves, the currents fighting against him every stroke he made to swim towards the cook. The voices from the bank shouted encouragement however and he made slow but steady progress. The voices began to rise in intensity; more of them now as he forced himself almost by sheer force of will. He lashed out as he drew near and grabbed the back of the cook. He could not afford to be gentle however, or even check on the creature’s condition. He pushed out into the current and began to drag the cook towards the bank.

  The current was definitely not as strong here but still strong enough to try and fling the cook from him. Roaring in pain as his muscles screamed against the effort he was putting upon them he slowly moved towards the bank. Everything was turning grey now. He could not see where he was heading but he still continued. It was now almost an act of pure stubbornness that forced him onward and then suddenly he was being lifted from the water. He felt himself hitting the ground, several loud voices talking in a language he did not understand obviously in concern and fear.

  Paul felt dizziness take him as he tried to sit up and so he allowed himself to slip back against the grass. His chest was falling and rising spasmodically as he gasped for air and strength. He turned his head to face the cook and he saw the creature was unmoving. The leader of the group was shaking the cook, the cigar fallen from its mouth; forgotten now. Yet the cook did not move. Its chest was flat and he did not appear to be breathing.

  “Mouth to mouth.” mumbled Paul and as he said it he instantly knew that they would not know what he meant. “Mouth to mouth.” he tried to shout again, but all that came out of his mouth was a mumble. Why weren’t they trying to resuscitate the cook? Groaning Paul forced himself to his knees and then, swaying violently to his feet, he pushed through the gathered group of creatures and kneeled beside the cook. Several anxious voices were objecting to him shouting, but Paul rose, and pushing them aside he pinched the creature's nose, checked for blockages in its mouth and then putting his mouth to its, began to try and breathe life into the cook.

  He had hardly started when a violent blow threw him off the cook and sent him sprawling onto the grass.

  “Murga! Aran!” shouted the chief, drawing a sword and taking a defensive pose against Paul. Yet Paul knew he had no time. He slowly moved towards the prone cook, pushing the leader slowly out of the way. Half expecting a sword in his gut at any second Paul kneeled down and started mouth to mouth again. The cook’s breath was sour from the ingested water but still he continued, pumping the creature's chest as he breathed air back into its unmoving body.

  After a minute there was nothing and Paul felt all of the creature’s eyes on his back. Dragging more air into his lungs he threw himself back into the procedure, breathing in, pumping the cook’s chest. There were startled exclamations from behind him as the small creature suddenly gasped, bucked against the lack of air in its lungs and thrashing as it turned away from Paul, threw up violently all over the grass. Grasping the creature pushed at Paul, grasping its throat in panic. Paul held its shoulder as it gulped air down. There was still silence as slowly the cook, still rasping loudly sat upright and looked about as if to see what had happened.

  The silence was broken then as a mighty cheer rose from the creatures gathered around him. Paul was thumped gently on the back several times, the cheering continuing as the cook smiled at them all. It felt good, Paul found.

  “Flip.” the cook said quietly, the words ragged, coming from a rasping throat. “Flip.” it said again quietly, and the cheers began again.

  Paul found himself half dragged to his feet as the leader, sword now thankfully sheathed looked up at him and smiled.

  “Grantzug.” it snarled and Paul bowed his head slightly. The tone was unmistakable.

  “Grantzug.” Paul repeated and the chief smiled again.

  The rest of the day passed in a blur as both he and the cook were helped up the path behind the waterfall by the other creatures and shortly after camp was struck much earlier in the day than Paul had ever seen before. The cook and he were swathed in blankets and placed close to the fire while the other creatures put down the white stones shortly after cooking the day's kill had commenced. Paul smiled hearing the cook shouting what could only be advice or possibly warning about his pans to the creatures who had stepped into his shoes. The food was however welcome when he received it and though it was not as tasty as usual it was still very good indeed.

  Slowly night fell and the stars began to appear. It was as usual a display to behold in awe and he stared at it in fascination, though as usual he felt detached from it, even though he could still marvel in its beauty. Strangely he found himself thinking about cigarettes, though he had not missed them for a good while now, he was surprised to find. Slowly he began to settle down to sleep and it was only when morning came that he realised that there had been a major change in the way the creatures were treating him.

  For a start he had not been tied to the usual stake hammered in the ground overnight.

  Chapter Seven

  The Magic of Mushrooms

  Paul awoke early, the night seeming to pass quickly, his dreams dark and empty of anything other than the cold rushing of water. There had as far as he was aware been no voices in the night, or any other disturbances at all. Yet his lack of dreams did not disturb him at all and when he did finally come to just after dawn he felt refreshed and ready for another day's journey. He stood watching the creatures wake and begin preparing for breakfast. The cook seemed to be back to his usual ebullient self, and so was supervising the collection of water and tending the nearly exhausted fire.

  Still his dream held. His rescue of the cook the day before however seemed more real than anything that had happened before. Still, he had arrived wherever he was now and he had saved a life, and although this too could be construed as part of his dream it did not feel like that at all. He had made a difference, for he had saved the cook. That was real. It had happened. He felt his heart beating faster as he followed his thoughts to their logical conclusion. If this was a dream, then it was a very real one. Quite a long one too.

  After a time, the two creatures began as they had many times before to gather up the white stones that they had placed in a circle around the camp the night before. He made a trip into the bushes to attend to matters, as did several of the other creatures. When he returned to the camp he slowly became aware that the creatures were no longer casting him sidelong glances of disdain or disquiet. The casual looks were still there of course, but they were more of admiration or camaraderie now. There were even a few cheery waves from some of the creatures who had never even registered his presence before. He returned their waves gladly, smiling as he did so. Not all seemed so take a positive view of him now though. The creature who had attacked him on the beach for example seemed just as unconvinced as he had been previously but Paul managed to give him a wide berth.

  Breakfast was taken. Paul could not help but notice that his biscuit was much larger than usual, and the cook fussed about him madly as he sat eating.

  “Flip!” he began again and Paul wondered what that meant and why the creature was patting himself on the head when he did it. “Flip. Flip.” he as good as shouted again, and Paul chuckled, eating his biscuit base as he did so.

  “Flip!” said Paul, patting himself on the head as he did so, copying the creatures’ gestures. To his surprise the cook sighed deeply, and taking a step nearer said it again, patting himself on his long eared head. Then, however, he shook his head and pointed at Paul.

  Paul sat wondering as the large eyes of the small creature focused on him. If only he could understand them. Then it came to him.

  “Hang on!” he shouted and pointed at the creature. “Flip!” said Paul and the creature nodded. “It’s your name, isn’t it?” The creature of course just stared at him vacantly and Paul moved a little closer. “Paul!” he said, and patted himself on the head.

  “Pool!” shouted the cook, laughing like
a lunatic and skipping around the campfire. “Pool!” he repeated as he danced, and Paul smiled, watching its bizarre dance around the fire.

  Eventually breakfast was eaten and the campfire extinguished. Paul noticed that the leader of the group was gathering all of the creatures about him, talking quickly in the strange guttural language that he could not even begin to make any sense of at all. There was much pointing at him though, and then the cook, followed by several guttural sounds from the other creatures that could only be a form of agreement. There were even more nodding heads and then the group broke up, forming a long straight line again. Paul fell into line and soon they were off.

  Yet they did not follow the path for more than a few miles. Clearly they had veered west and crossing the river by a set of ford stones they began to head directly west, heading towards the mountains ahead of them. As morning continued the mountains became larger and larger, the highest peaks swathed in snow. Yet as they approached the foothills Paul noticed a long almost rusty coloured streak of what could only be rock straight ahead of them. By noon they approached the lower cliffs and Paul could see that it was indeed a huge vein of rusty coloured stone that rose from the ground, discolouring the cliff.

  As they wound nearer Paul also noticed the remains of what looked like some form of mining equipment abandoned about the cliff. Old trucks, metal spars and rotted wooden posts were discarded about the place as if left there by people who had departed in a hurry. By noon Paul could see that the rust coloured vein of rock did have a small entrance in it, and that it looked to his eye that they were approaching some form of mine.

  As the opening in the cliff got nearer Paul saw that there was a considerable amount of debris scattered about the entrance; great spars of wood and cloth lying haphazardly all around, all left to rust or fall apart in the open air. As they approached the cliff the order was given to stop and lunch was hastily passed around, after which several members of the group made themselves busy gathering up small stakes of wood and wrapping cloth tightly about them. Having done this the stakes were held in a small cooking fire and once again a line was formed and then they marched straight into the opening of the cliff and into darkness.

  The cool air was quite a surprise to Paul. He held a larger stake than most and he held it high to see where they were. Just inside the entrance there was even more abandoned equipment, and dotted about the cave he could not help but notice several large skeletons lying scattered in the gloom. He approached one and examined it carefully. It appeared to be roughly human in size and shape; much larger than the small creatures that filed down past them into the depths of the earth itself.

  Paul noticed several of the creatures did not seem especially pleased to be inside the mine. Indeed, most of them wore tight, nervous expressions, their large eyes darting to and fro about the encroaching darkness. The leader gave another shout and they were off again. Taking a sharp right and then following a narrow tunnel that descended down into the mine. Here the debris was considerably less, though they did pass a few more skeletons as they wound down into the tunnel that twisted and turned, heading in a steep downwards direction.

  There was a slight breeze whispering up the cold stone passage, the weight of the air moaning as it blew almost lazily past them, small swirls of dust giving almost a suggestion of movement about the tunnel floor as they descended even deeper. As the wind increased in volume several of the creatures began to mutter under their breaths, but the leader did not slacken his pace. Down and down into the tunnel they went, torches casting long and eerie shadows onto the walls of the cave.

  There was a slight sign of movement off to Paul’s right and he stared into the darkness before swinging the torch that way to see what it was. He held the flame high but the tunnel was empty; the whispering gone. Shaking his head and cursing himself for becoming jittery he picked up the pace just as they left the tunnel and entered what must have been a huge underground cavern. He thought it must be huge for the torches revealed only an enormous empty space. They could not see the end of it even with help from the flickering flames.

  Paul stared into the gloom. Suddenly there seemed to be a sign of movement from ahead in the cavern and he stared at where he thought that this was and was slightly perturbed to see that there was nothing moving where he looked at all.

  The group fanned out, torches being waved into the darkness, but they still could not reveal just how large the cave actually was. Even so the sound of running water alerted Paul to a small river that crossed the cave floor just ahead of them, appearing from the darkness and then disappearing back into the shadows as it flowed presumably through the cave. They advanced slowly towards the river and Paul was surprised to see many luminescent small mushrooms gathered about the bank of the underground stream, growing in small bright clumps at the water's edge.

  “Pugga!” shouted the leader, pointing at the small clump of brightly glowing fungus and there were several cheers from the other creatures gathered there. One of the group approached and cut a mushroom from one of the clumps and brought it to the leader to inspect. He took it almost reverentially from the creature and then approached Paul with it.

  “Pugga Cha!” he said loudly, grabbing Paul's hand and putting the mushroom in them before making loud chewing noises. Paul felt every eye of the group upon him and as he looked at the mushroom in his hand he noticed with a vague disquiet that it seemed to be bleeding lightly; a dark arterial red stain filling his cupped hands.

  “If it’s all the same to you…” he began, but the cook approached him and pushed his hands upwards, before smiling and nodding. Paul however was not convinced. Not a tiny bit. “Look I am not eating any weird mushroom!” he shouted, “especially ones that seem to be bleeding!”

  There was a loud whispering noise from the darkness on the other side of the cavern, almost as if someone or something was heading their way.

  Paul looked at the mushroom bleeding in his hand, and the concerned nervous faces of the creatures gathered around him. There was another loud whispering from somewhere in the darkness and the slight breeze seemed to increase.

  Sighing deeply Paul shoved the mushroom into his mouth and chewing rapidly more or less swallowed the fungus whole. There was a slight burning sensation in his stomach, and then nothing. If anything the mushroom tasted vaguely of cheese but that was about it. He glanced into the darkness and saw what looked like the shape of a tall man cross into the light and then fade back into the darkness again. He blinked. The figure was gone. Yet he was sure that it had been the same size and shape as him, dressed in rags that hung from it like a long moulded death shroud. He shivered and wondered what was going to happen next. Surely they had not come all this way to get him high on some sort of magic mushroom?

  “Intruder.” said a voice in his ear and a misty shape of a man appeared from the wall before him, then as it raised an equally opaque pickaxe towards him it faded from view.

  “Trespassers.” whispered a voice from the darkness and Paul looked up to see several shades shambling into view from the darkness ahead of them, their figures emaciated; rags hanging from their bodies. Each bore what looked like a long misted knife and slowly they advanced towards the creatures gathered around him.

  None of whom seemed to notice the approach of the strange misty figures at all. He saw that Flip was cutting more mushrooms from the river bank, and now had about half a dozen that he stowed away in a pouch that was slung over his shoulder.

  “Thieves.” whispered the nearest shade, raising a long mist covered dagger as it floated across the river towards them. Paul shivered, moving back slightly a step or two. He saw the leader of the Groblettes glance at him and then back across the cavern, but obviously not seeing anything his face was a mixture of confusion and fear. Yet Paul knew he was the leader for a reason.

  “Avant!” he shouted, gesturing up the tunnel from where they had descended into the cavern. “Quickly!” he shouted, and Paul was surprised at the familiar word, though
if he had not understood it he could not have failed to understand its urgency. Rapidly the company began to run towards the tunnel and head back to the surface.

  Paul stared at the shadowy figures, counting now at least twenty of them floating about the cavern and heading straight for them. Without another thought Paul spun on his heels and began to follow the Groblettes up the tunnel, racing along the passage as he flew back towards the surface.

  “Catch them!” came a voice whispering from the rock and a cold, fog shrouded arm thrust suddenly from the tunnel wall as if to grasp hold of him. He thrust the torch at it and the hand disappeared in the light, a wailing sound bursting around the cave.

  On and on they went, weaving their way up the steep tunnel, the whimpering and moaning sounds from deep below pursuing them as they went.

  “Avant! Avant!” shouted the leader from up ahead, but there was no need. Every member of the group was racing up the tunnel as fast as they could and did not need any more encouragement to move faster.

  “Thieves! You will die here!” came a voice whispered from below, and again a hand thrust from the wall, narrowly missing Paul as it did so. He thrust the torch at it as it writhed, trying to get purchase on him. Once again the light dissipated it, followed by yet more screams.

  And then they were in the entrance cave.

  “Outside! Quickly!” shouted the leader and Paul turned in recognition of the familiar words spoken by the Groblette, almost coming to a stop.

  “What?” he shouted in confusion as he heard the familiar words, but as he turned to race out into the light outside a hand shot from the cave wall and grasped him by his right arm, holding him in an almost vice-like grip just above the wrist. As it grasped him he dropped the torch and it rolled away across the cave floor out of reach.

  He screamed as the cold dead fingers grasped him, and he felt his skin burning as the hand consolidated its grip. He spun to the creatures for help but they were already almost outside, not having seen his plight. He panicked, his mind turning. This felt real. This felt very real. Not like a dream at all. His skin was burning!