Cave of Mysteries
a snippet of fiction from the dream-well
I haven’t been in the habit of publishing fiction lately, or writing it for that matter. And while it seems only marginally-related to the Seeds from the World Tree métier, I’m following the impulse to post this short piece, or fragment of what could become a longer one. I wrote it early one morning last week in New York City upon waking from a vivid dream. I can’t remember if this was the day before or after I visited one of my favorite childhood haunts, the American Museum of Natural History, but something of the sense of wonder that place has always evoked for me can perhaps be found here in homunculus form.
Please don’t ask me about the main character or about the mysterious companion, as I haven’t the foggiest what their deal is. Possibly I’ll find out, little by little. Or else this’ll remain an anomalous little one-off.
Either way, hope you enjoy the diversion.
JE
The rock was oddly sculpted, as if great torrents had scoured it, yet the curves and lips of stone followed no water way but bulged and swooped with a logic their own. He beckoned her further in, and with an inhale she ducked and followed him under a protruding shelf, on hands and knees now, through cobwebs and shadow, only to emerge into headspace once again.
They were inside a doughnut-shaped rock formation, the central hole little more than two yards across. Here on a low ridge of rock she could make out what looked in the half-light like figurines. The dust lay thick as snow upon them; he gestured, eyes gleaming, for her to pick one up.
When she blew and wiped the dust away she was conscious of disturbing the work of millennia, perhaps longer. Somehow the place felt far older than anything she could think of, far beyond the horizons suggested even by such places as Stonehenge. As for what she was holding in her trembling hand, it looked shockingly modern. Smooth and clean as glass, only dark, like obsidian--but this was no hand-worked piece, no chipped or flint-napped thing; it looked almost cast or 3D printed, so smooth and clean were the lines. Yet there was an echo too of Venus of Willendorf, if she were made svelt and wore a party hat.
The stylized figure had a rounded bust and belly above simple tapering legs. On the breast lay several ridged circles, necklaces perhaps; above them rose the head. The face looked human, or almost human: like a woman wearing goggles, for the eyes were large and cocked at a slightly odd angle. And there was that conical hat.
"What is she?" she murmured, but sound was muffled in this place, foreign. He held his peace, gesturing back at the row of figurines--for there were more of them, a dozen or so, laid out in a line on a shelf in the rock. Their heights and shapes varied, but all were humanoid, and all had the conical headpieces. A family? A pantheon? It was impossible to tell.
She looked again at her companion. He knelt quietly, an air of reverence about him. He caught her eye almost shyly, gave a slight smile, then turned his attention back to their finds. His body language said 'go on, you don't need to ask me.'
Well, I can't very well ask them, can I, came the thought. But as the words passed through her mind, she felt that maybe she could. At the very least, she could try.
Remembering her practice these past months, she took her resolve in her hands and grasped the first figure again, setting the compact woman in her lap face up. She squared herself, then closed her eyes. Who are you? She asked, without speaking aloud. Who are you? All unbidden followed another question on the heels of the first: Who am I?
She sat there in the dust of this ancient place and felt suddenly foolish: here I am clutching an ancient doll, speaking to it like a child would. But the thought came back, we are the children. And after a beat, we are their children. But who was they?
She did her best to drop in, softening the hard contours of her attention, deepening the breath. She was on the cusp of something just out of reach. Melt the tension, let the heartbeat ease, come into presence. The blood was flowing to her hands; they were beginning to warm. When the warming continued she opened her eyes. The figurine was glowing, or rather, it was lit from within. At its heart, deep inside (though the glassy material was only a few inches thick) something was stirring. Gazing deeper, she could make out what looked like a spiral galaxy. Its light was a deep, warm orange, like embers. Gradually it brightened, like new flame springing forth; the warmth increased, too, and only now did a jolt of fear shoot through her.
What have I awoken?
She stood up all in a rush, letting the thing fall into the dust. Her head was a whir, her vision piecing out in a wave of dizziness. She reached out a hand to steady herself against the sandy-smooth rock, heaving. Only a headrush.
Her companion had a steady hand on her arm, his gentle presence welcome. She had to get a grip, and she did. When she braved a look down at the figurine lying face up, half sunk into the bed of dust, the light in its torso had faded. Hands braced on thighs, heart slowing a little, she let out a long exhale.
A hundred questions surged through her mind, and part of her wanted to wring the answers out of her damnably quiet companion. He was once again seated in the same position. If the thing had shot out a laser beam and fried her no doubt he'd still be sitting there. But to her surprise, he spoke, murmuringly.
"Nothing to fear, I think."
Nothing to fear, my arse. But she bit the words back; apparently his silence was contagious. And once she had caught her breath, she had to admit that for all its otherworldliness, the cave didn't feel sinister. Surpassing strange, certainly. But not evil. She could sleep peacefully here in this almost womb-like space, warm and still and pregnant with mystery. Here she could dream extraordinary dreams.