He’s deffo only got a week to live. The waitress is here. Let’s see if I can lip read him from across the room. I swear he just ordered a whisky! What a piss head. No wonder he looks so rough! He just checked her out, but I don’t blame him. It’s just weird coz he’s old.
Moncler, Gucci, Louis Vuitton. Fucking hell this couple look like a walking designer shop and probs live in a council house. He’s deffo a drug dealer. He’ll pull out an old Nokia soon hahah no way he just pulled out an old Nokia. Oooo she doesn’t look happy. ‘We’ve only just got here you’re not leaving now’ that was easy. She’s deffo local if I can lip read her that well. ‘Babe I’ll be back in ten ye. You know am good for it’ she knows he isn’t good for it. She’s sick of this. God he even walks like a dick head. She is quite attractive maybe I should approach her? Nah don’t fancy getting shanked if he comes back. I won’t be her type anyway.
‘Can I have the lunch time breakfast please and one coffee, milk, no sugar’ this guy looks fresh. I like his coat. I reckon he’s an accountant or summat. This looks like a serious phone call. ‘Sorry darling I’ll be in Turkey for another two days’ Turkey? Did I read that right? ‘The construction site is bin flid yes unforgiving’ yeah he’s lost me. He slurs his words too much. Who’s this fine young thing? Phwoaar she is smoking! ‘I’ve just told my missus I’ll be in Turkey for two more days so we’ve got the weekend to ourselves’ the cheeky fucking prick! The closest he is to Turkey is Christmas dinner in two months!! Hahaha. Wouldn’t mind being him right now though, she is fit!
‘I want you to use the new toys on me when we get home’ oh for fuck sake. I’m not watching those two coffin dodgers talk dirty before I get my meal.
‘8338’ I could easily jump him in a back alley now and take his mums credit card. He looks about 15. I bet he’s going to the cash machine down the road. 8338, hmm. Nah I’m not that evil. Shut up Jack. Bet she’s loaded though.
Oooh yes my burgers here. Time to tuck in. God I love being deaf sometimes. Lip reading is so much fun.
The birds crow a weeping melody The trees void of leaves Natures had its final smile As summer and autumn leave
The polar bears roar a sound of awe Winters here, nature’s shed it’s final tear A home shall no more thaw
The sea lions bark a joyful chime Blue feelings leave and fill the skies Summer is here it’s feeding time Pups can now begin their lives
The snow leapords purr a daunting note A thudding heat, comfort revoked Nature’s given it’s final kiss Lives wilt as winter chokes
“Yo bruv av’ you seen this?” Kray hollered
Darby stumbles through the fern to catch up with his brother, hunches over to catch his breath, but startles at what stands before him.
“Woooaahhhh, what the hell is that!” Comes bellowing from Darby's tiny mouth, setting him back the few breaths he just gathered.
The boys stand side by side; eyes lit up like two moons in a clear night sky. Kray reaches for Darby's shoulder, snapping him out of his trance. Darby bites down on his lip, rolls his eyes, and before Kray has a chance to say anything, Darby assures him he is absolutely NOT going through that entrance.
Kray, flinging his arms around like a wild Chimpanzee and jumping over the nettles, screams at his little brother. “But why?! We’ve come out exploring, don’t be so boring, Darby”.
“No! There’ll be bloody all sorts in there! It looks about 5000 years old, if you don’t get rats the size of Aunt Jackie’s arse there’ll probs be curses down there that will turn you into a spotty old circus freak” Darby said, in a valiant attempt to convince Kray to be sensible for once in his life.
Kray transitions from a swinging Chimpanzee to taking the stance of a Silverback Gorilla with a scrunched-up face.
“You young’uns never do owt proper these days. You waste away in front of the TV or scrolling down your social media feeds watching everyone else enjoy their lives. You’ve become so connected with everything going on in the world that you’ve lost connection with what goes on right in front of you” Kray said, almost falling over his own words.
Darby, with one eyebrow raised and chin lifted, is taken aback by a show of wisdom from someone who eats their own bogeys and finds the sound of their own farts hysterical. The hypocrisy isn’t lost on him either.
“Well, aint that a bit rich, coming from a ponce with a big following on social media. You’ve got more pictures online than the bleeding Kardashians” Darby smirked. “Yeaaaahhh, but that’s because unlike everyone else, I post interesting stuff, because I do interesting stuff! I actually live, and that’s why people follow me” Kray said.
There was no mistaking the look on Darby’s face. Kray knew he had won the argument. Lapsing in his victory, he turns towards the entrance and rubs it in his little brothers face with a jaunty walk over the cracked flags. As they inch closer, the surrounding colours of nature fade away as a huge black hole opens in front of them. A chill washes over them, as if an air conditioner with a rotting carcass inside it had just been switched on. A feeling of regret sprouts in Kray’s mind, before he plucks it out with the thought of all the ‘likes’ he will get when he posts about his adventure online. He turns his phone torch on, the light brilliant and large in the moonless tomb. Like a lighthouse beaming out into the pitch-black ocean, the torch glides from left to right, illuminating the only path; a path which leads under a sheet of silky webs that appear to be vibrating, as if a million spiders are bustling across it. Darby clutches to the back of his big brother’s t-shirt.
As Kray hesitantly ushers Darby further into the crepuscular pit, the steam from their breath grows larger and begins to freeze in front of their face. Their walking turns to trudging as they encounter deep moss, the damp seeping through their tattered pumps.
“This is angin, Kray. It reeks, my feet are rinsing wet through and I’m scared” Darby whimpered.
Kray reluctantly turned around, bringing the gleaming torch on his iPhone round with him. “Dar it’s fi….” He halts his tongue in shock as he noticed the light shining on Darby’s trembling mouth has also illuminated a mysterious inscription carved into the wall behind him.
QUI THESAURUM SEPULCRI HUJUS QUARUNT UMBRA CONDITORIS SUI VEXABUNTUR.
“Holy shit bro, check that out!” Kray delights, throwing his finger up at the wall. Darby spins around while screaming in a tone dripping with bone-chilling horror, so much that even Kray, - knowing what was going on – was taken aback with shock.
“Jesus bloody christ! I thought it was gunna’ be a massive spider or summat. Thank god for that” Darby huffs.
He relaxes his shoulders and takes a second, quizzing look at the writing. “Isn’t that Latin, bro? You know a bit of Latin from that dodgy priest back in the day don’t you, Kray?”
Krays cringes and kisses his teeth. “It says something about treasure, founders… or creators? There is definitely a mention of treasure” he stutters.
Darby discerns a clear overtone of worry in his brother’s voice, he knows Latin better than that, he thinks. Not wishing to push him after he blurted out a dark memory of his brother’s past, he responds “okay, what do you want to do? I still want to go back, it’s probs just a load of bollocks anyway.” But his words fall on deaf ears. Kray is stood peering deep into the wall, his mouth drooped open, gasps of air disturbing the dust that sparkle in the sliver light.
He turns slowly… “come on” he unconvincingly grinned.
They are moving slower now, more wary of their surroundings, the beam of light unsteady in the dark. The chill of the unwelcoming tomb is becoming too much, even for Kray. “Woah” he grumbled.
“What?! What is it?!” Darby squeaks like a startled mouse. Peering round his brother’s body with his head under his arm. He gasps in disbelief.
In front of the two boys was a skeleton perched up against a concrete slab covered in Latin words. Dusty cobwebs were sewn between the bare bones while the rest were laden with golden armour and scorching red, emerald green, and bright yellow jewels that dazzled in the light. A shiver runs down Darby’s spine when they spot an oversized spider crawl out of the skulls cavernous jaw
“That’s maaaad” Darby said in shock. He is spooked by the skeleton but also relieved they have reached the end of the tunnel. The debris that surrounds the treasure and it’s long-gone owner suggests it isn’t a dead end but the tomb had caved in on itself.
Kray didn’t respond to Darby’s display of astonishment, he just looked on in uncharacteristic nervousness. Do I tell him the truth about the Latin inscription or not? He ponders. Images of their tattered pumps, mouldy brown caravan and their pregnant mother run through his mind replacing his thoughts of the Latin inscription. Time stands still. No-one moves or speaks.
Suddenly, Kray jerks his head like a rabid animal that has caught a whiff of death. His brows perk up, his eyes ablaze with wealth, he says…
“Get the jewels”
Darby - who’s fear has now miraculously vanished – stumbles over the rocks and damp moss that looked as if the tomb had spewed up its guts and he was scrambling over the offal. Nothing shiny is safe from Darby’s wandering hands. He makes sure he gets all the jewels, the clinking as they are removed from the armour is music to his ears.
A sudden, impenetrable darkness engulfs them. The darkness and sombre silence pressed into Darby’s ears as he kneeled rooted to the floor. Then out of the cold and clammy air came a voice…
“Smile, bruv!” Kray gleamed as a blinding flash lit the tomb up. “That’ll do it, and you get to be on my insta page now too! I’ll tag you init bro don’t worry”.
“Oh my god, Kray. I nearly decorated my pants then. Come on man lets shoot” Darby huffed with relief.
“Use your phone light now Dar’ will ya? My battery will die soon” Kray requested. Darby flicked his torch on and filled his pockets with the jewels, passed some to Kray who stashed them down his socks, then put his phone away so carefully it was like doing bomb disposal.
As they escape the tomb, a deep rumble comes from inside, carried by a biting wind. What the heck was that and why is the wind coming from inside the tomb? Kray thinks. He decides to keep his thoughts to himself and runs behind Darby to let him set the pace. He suspects the rumble also worried him as he is darting over the moss like a newt and barging through the empire of cobwebs.
The low evening sun is now beating back the darkness as it fights its way through the tunnel, illuminating their worried expressions. As their face warms to its golden touch, they pick up the pace; the taste of freedom has made the risks of the tomb feel more alive. Almost there! Darby says to himself.
Exiting the tomb into the fresh winter air, they don’t stall. Shooting through the woods weaving through the mahogany giants and over weeds that choke the forest floor, they head for the river.
“Where is it? We’re not lost, are we?” Darby blurted in a tremulous motion with his gaze set on the direction of the river flow that was now much more violent than when they crossed it. A mist seeped through woods and darkness was falling, they knew the river was taking the day with it. Kray looks on in a kind of sad impotence. Trepidation engulfed him ever since he saw those Latin words, and he was only becoming more reticent.
“BOYS!” A voice with incredible resonance rang out like a gunshot; a flash of pigeons flew from a nearby tree. It was uncle Larry. “I thought I might find you out here. Come on, we need to get you back. Last weeks floods have revealed some old structures the authorities are telling us to stay clear, these are the Governments stomping grounds now, not yours! I’ve got a boat upstream, get a bloody move on!”
The boys scramble over the fallen branches to keep up with their Uncle.
At the boat the boys scrambled over each other to get over the dock. Uncle Larry put the key in the ignition with his eyes set on the river, he asked “you didn’t see anything out there did you, lads?”
The boys looked at each other. Darby smiled, opened his mouth to speak to his Uncle, then checked himself. Almost imperceptibly, but not unmistakably, Kray had shaken his head at his Brother. In his eyes was an expression of anguished pleading.
“Nah, just killed a few frogs, Unc’” Kray replied. And with that, Uncle Larry turned the key and the old rusty boat spluttered to life. Kray sat down on a large bundle of rope and began to think about the latin inscription again. As if their minds were in sync, Darby began to question his brother.
“You knew more about that writing on the wall didn’t ya bro? It doesn’t matter now anyway, we’re scot free and on our way home init” Darby said.
“Yeah, I just didn’t wanna scare ya’, that’s all Dar”.
“…Well go on then, what did it say ya lying git” Darby giggled.
“Just summat like, ‘those who take the treasure from this tomb will be haunted by the ghost of its creator’ or something along those lines, anyway” Kray shrugged.
Darby stood still for a second - clutching to the side rail so he didn’t fall over as the waves rocked the boat. He gave his brother a worried glance. His mind begins to run in circles ‘It was me who took the jewels, not Kray. Ghosts aren’t real though. It’s me that’ll be in the shit if they are real though. I didn’t even wanna go in that bloody tomb. Nah it’ll be fine, Ghosts aren’t real.
Not wanting to look weak in front of his big brother, he just laughs it off and heads below deck for the toilet to have a look at his newfound treasure away from his uncles watchful eyes.
PING, PING, PING, ZZZZZZZZ
Krays phone rings and vibrates against the wooden deck creating a thick buzzing noise. It’s a notification. His friend has commented on his most recent picture of him and his brother with the skeleton in the tomb.
It read: JonnyQ1993… ‘Yooooo Kray that is totally RAD! Who the hell are those men in armour stood over Darby with a sword?! Bit creepy that bro lol’
It was a long arduous journey; so why then- finally there, was I overcome with a daunting sense of anxiety, perched under an old building in my own Kingdom? They say The Ascent is one of the most important rituals of a warriors life. But I am no simple warrior. I am Prince Arcane, son of King Arcanesius, Commander of the Endless Horde. Anxiety is for the weak, an I am no weak man. As worries clutched onto my thoughts and fatigue tugged on my muscles, I closed my eyes to focus on my breath. If there is anything I had learnt about anxiety from my frail, pathetic excuse of a man - my brother - then it was that anxiety was merely a compass, an indication to continue on, a sign that we are close to conquering a fear. The deeper we are in our fears, the greater we bloom when we break free of them. So, equipping my anxiety as an ally rather than a foe; I began The Ascent.
Millions of warriors have attempted The Ascent, few have reached the top. Our custom states that no man - should he succeed or fail - can ever speak of what he witnesses on this path. As such, I am daringly marching into the unknown.
Approaching the foot of the hill, whispers began to creep into my ear. The voices are familiar, yet I can't quite pinpoint the mouths they belong to. Then the faces came, brutalised faces of women, children, and men. Their marks were well known to me. They were marked with the unique crest of the Endless Horde. I knew my men were committing such atrocities, as did my Father. My orders were to take the lands of our ancient oppressors with no regard for the innocent citizens. I stressed with my generals that 'simply following orders' has been the main excuse for enacting genocide since the Time of Men began. It was no luck, I either follow orders or lose the morale of the men, the trust of my Father, trust of the King, and ultimately, the war.
I push on. The faces and whispers had grown into full blown mirages playing through rain that takes the skin of your arms. The whispers somehow still louder than the crashing thunder, their voices sliding in and out of my ears like determined serpents. All around me I see my men raping, torturing, and murdering innocent souls that have only ever asked for the chance to live.
It was at this point I knew.
If the Gods wish to destroy you, first they make you mad. They were baring my sins, regrets and horrors of my past naked in front of me. It was mental torture. Whether it was a means to correct my ways, or a means to destroy me, I had no idea. Maybe it is for me to decide? Maybe this is where my anxiety came from?
I remember who I am: Prince Arcane, Commander of the Endless Horde. I push on, albeit - for the first time ever - with tears in my eyes and my heart in my throat. What happened next I am unable to disclose as per our custom. Nor would I wish to tell you, Men of the Endless Horde, what atrocities I have committed that our Gods deemed fit to torture me with that night.
But I will tell you this. When I finally completed The Ascent, I was no longer just the mighty Prince Arcane, Commander of the Endless Horde. I was a man, human again. I went from a beast who berated his own blood - my brother - to a tender sibling who showed him how to utilise his anxiety and summon its powers. My powers now lie not in my ability to cast spells through my staff or the blood I spill with my sword, but with my ability to love, forgive and above all: the pride and dignity I earn by standing for what is RIGHT!
So as you stand before me, preparing for battle against my Father and his Guard, his allies with the rotten, foul Half-Men of the west, know this:
Wether we will be floating on clouds in the heavens, burning in the fiery pits in hell, or lingering in the thoughtless abyss with the atheists, or return to this world reincarnated as a fucking cockroach, then we will begin that journey as we mean to go out... WITH OUR PRIDE AND OUR DIGNITY INTACT! NO INNOCENT SOUL WILL BE HARMED ON OUR WATCH, NOT BEFORE WE DIE!
CHARGE!
CHARGE!!!
"It's impossible to describe the sheer terror we felt in that make-shift emergency room. Cowering under our elbows every time we heard hissing from above, as if our fragile arms were enough to protect us from the bombs. If we somehow survived the sound of the thunderclap, and opened our eyes once the long roar had hushed, we was met with an onslaught of wounded civilians pouring through the front door marred by blood and pulverised concrete.
Yet among these wounded, and often dead civilians, I saw no terrorists. I saw no soldiers. I saw florists, carpenters, engineers, teachers, students, and lawyers. I saw mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers and sisters."
Ayisha takes a brief pause while keeping her hands fixed firmly on the podium, and her shoulders rolled back. She glides her eyes across the room, as if to check everyones attention is still fixed on her.
"You talk of freeing the people from its tyrants and oppressors. You wish to be champions of liberal values. So you sit at your round tables, commanding armies of youth to fly drones in to cities, never seeing a speck of blood. Your armies who control the drones never seeing anything other than a dot on the screen, and so destroying entire lives feels like a PlayStation game.
But as the new champions of liberal values, you believe dropping these bombs is worth it. The collateral damage is a necessary part of war, and you are the heroes for making the hard decisions. Some of you probably have a soul, and you let the thought of evil flicker in your mind before a gust of ego blows it out. But these questions of justification are not the questions you should be asking yourselves in here tonight.
Can you face the fact that there can be no redemption for your actions? Can you face having no funeral and no tombstone like the bombardiers of the old wars? Can you burn in the darkest corner of hell alongside your enemies you so foolishly believed you was different from? And for those of you who are atheist, your place may not be in hell, but fear not, you will reside next to your enemies on the pages of your children's history books.
So the question is not how you can justify the indiscriminate bombing.
The question is, can you stomach being remembered as the the cruel and vindictive men you once aimed to defeat? Can you stomach immortality of the worst kind?"
And with that, Ayisha stares out at the elder men, leaders of nations, as their gaze falls to their feet.
There is nothing but silence. A silence that speaks volumes.
