AWAKENING PART 7B
Day 9; 0315 (Early Morning)
Focus: 513
513 sat himself down at the edge of the shallow pit and used a long stick to poke around the heap of ash found at its center. [Come on, you’re in there somewhere.] He mused impatiently. [Ah, there you are.]
Locating a fiery ember underneath the ash -- the object he searched for -- he gently rolled it away from the ash heap and moved it towards the edge of the meter-deep, circular pit. The ember was the size of a baseball, large enough to easily start a fire. [Good, good.] He affirmed, quite happy the ember still smoldered.
513: “Huuup.”
Grunting as he got back up to his feet, 513 walked over to a collection of mounds filled materials he had collected the day before. His eyes re-adjusted to the darkness as the light given-off by the ember faded from his vision. [Shit. Where’d I sort the kindling and firewood again?] He questioned, scratching his head in confusion; the distant glow of the reignited fires were too faint to help him differentiate one object from the other.
513: “No time like the present.”
He mumbled sarcastically to himself, as he blindly headed towards the direction of the first mound.
As he searched the mounds for items needed to start a fire, he reminisced about the previous day. It was his way of distracting his mind from the sheer boredom he felt performing mundane tasks.
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Day 8; 0905 (Morning)
Focus: 513
Eighteen hours earlier, 513 set-off to venture into the dead zone. From his perspective, the fighting between the beasts had ended; from his observations, no living animals dared to approach the vicinity where the fighting had taken place. This led him to believe it was the best time for exploration; he wanted to see, first-hand, the full-breadth of devastation caused by the handful of beasts.
Of course, the other lingering reason was an excuse to preoccupy his mind.
Prior to this, 513's thoughts were in disarray. He suffered from the after-effects of exiting the dreamscape prematurely. It took roughly two hours for him to regain his sense of self after waking. The eight hours he had spent inside the dreamscape stretched-on almost endlessly; time was slowed to a standstill as-if the phenomena itself had decided to keep him locked inside the confines of a perpetual loop -- increasing the number of mental scars he carried with him as he continued to live. Joy, anxiety, grief -- though they weren’t his own emotions, he felt it all; he despised it all.
He sought-out salvation in the form of this expedition. He hoped that he would forget the foreign memories plaguing his mind.
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After checking his wounds and gauging their severity, he changed-out the bloodied moss wrappings that had hardened -- crusted-over and stuck to his body like calcified leeches -- for fresh, clean ones.
His mind wandered.
He questioned how he was able to produce the blood and the fluids needed to heal his wounds -- he had yet to drink a drop of water since his arrival; the feeling of thirst, even hunger, never made themselves present in all the days he spent inside the forest.
How was he still alive?
It was a question he asked himself often.
For the moment, he gave-up on finding the answer. He rescinded himself to the reality that his body was no longer bound to known limits, or limits he had grown to accept from Earthly experience.
It was a tough call to make; letting himself become vulnerable to the unknown; accepting that not knowing might be for the best.
Finding resolve, he postponed his soul-searching for another time, like many other aspects of his present life.
Eventually, he turned his attention back to his wounds.
Once 513 completed the treatment of his semi-healed injuries, he set-off towards the borderlands -- a patch of dirt between the lush greens of the forest, and the desolate lands of the dead zone.
As he drew closer to the borderlands, the morning fog that 513 had become accustomed to during his stay in the forest, gradually increased in density, prompting him to question if something unnatural had tainted the fog itself -- it had always been either uniformly thick or thin, it never came in gradients.
Pausing his forward progress, he spent a few moments quietly watching the scenery for any signs of trickery; falling into a trap was the last thing he wanted to do.
Moments pass, and nothing happened.
Eventually, he resumed his march, albeit more carefully.
While adjusting his pace to supplement his obscured vision -- a by-product of the thick fog -- he pondered over his recent decision-making process -- why he had become so brazen; so risky.
Had he become tired of hiding? Has his instincts for self-preservation malfunctioned? Was he under some form of external influence? Is his expedition truly a proactive measure? Did he choose this course of action for himself?...
The seeds of doubt and fear had taken root in his mind, but still he marched-on.
After crossing the borderlands and entering the dead zone, the strong smell of burnt meat, fat, and other aerated carbons tickled 513’s nose. The word “FIRE” was the first-and-only thing that popped into his head. But as he looked around the landscape, no visible flames were in sight.
To better analyze the situation, he slowed his travelling pace to a crawl.
From his observations, he concluded a few things: [1] the smoke from the fires had mixed with the early morning fog, causing it to grow thicker the further he ventured into the dead zone; [2] with smoke present, his sense of smell and vision is greatly obscured, leaving him blind on two fronts -- however, the same would be true for any creature that dared enter the dead zone; he had neither the upper-hand or a handicap when it came to facing encounters in this place; [3] the fires were likely caused by the battle, but what had extinguished their flames remains a mystery.
While wading through the thick smog, 513 encountered something inevitable -- charred remains. They were so badly burnt that he could not tell what type of animal or creature they once were. However, being curious, he opted to excavate a few of the bodies.
He searched for anything edible, or salvageable for later use -- he did not want to waste an opportunity for a free meal; just like water, he hadn’t eaten since arriving in the forest.
Unfortunately, the remains had been far too damaged by the fires to salvage anything worth consuming. However, that did not mean he was left empty-handed.
513 managed to pull-out a few oddly shaped stones from several of the charred bodies. He would have dismissed their relevance if he hadn’t noticed something peculiar about them -- that some of the stones were identical in almost every way.
Cleaning them up, he found that every stone -- even ones that had no commonalities with the others -- had intricate pattern-work on their surfaces. It was almost as if they were molded and sculpted by a masterful artisan.
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Believing they would be useful in the future, 513 wrapped the stones inside a piece of torn cloth that was originally used as a bandage, and carried them, clasped firmly inside his right hand.
As he continued his expedition into the dead zone, the terrain gradually became more dangerous. The number of fissures and deadly pits with unknown depths rose significantly. Some had even started to fill with an unknown liquid substance. 513 was hopeful that it was water, but he knew better than to assume.
The gigantic trees that had once covered the area, were now a rarity. The ones 513 managed to encounter on his journey, were husks of their former selves -- their bark, turned to ash; their crystal cores, left to disintegrate and crumble under their own weight.
The endless fields of spikes that gave him grief during his escape, had mostly turned to dust; whether it be tree limbs or the torn limbs of an animal, it did not matter to the raging flames of a fire.
The only objects that remained stuck to the ground like spikes, were obsidian-colored bones. To 513, they were a reminder that not everything touched by fire turns to ash.
After picking-up a few of the obsidian-colored bones to study for later, he continued his exploration, until he met an impasse. In front of him, was a large swathe of land that had crystallized from exposure to extreme heat -- heat higher than a simple forest fire could muster.
Translucent sculptures of once-liquified matter littered the landscape. They were arranged like ripples, extending outward from a centralized location, like waves pushed by a violent storm. The tallest sculptures were found at the center. By 513’s estimates, they were at least three stories tall -- or about thirteen meters in height.
With poor visibility due to the smog, 513 did not dare to enter the foreign landscape, and instead, looked for a way around it.
Eventually, he grew tired and decided to rest. He had spent a considerable amount of time looking for other avenues to travel further into the dead zone, but failed to find a reliable path; it turns out, the crystallized swathe of land he had encountered was not a singular occurrence.
Sitting down next to a semi-burnt tree stump, 513 examined the stones he had collected earlier. Their number had grown since he had first discovered their existence -- he excavated every carcass during his journey. He was forced to construct a rucksack from a larger piece of cloth that was used to wrap his fists, just to carry all the stones.
There were one-hundred fifty-six stones in all, with a total of nine distinct patterns -- of which, only three stones had no duplicates. Pattern A had ninety-seven identical duplicates; Pattern B, thirty-two; Pattern C, twelve; Patterns D and E, five of each; Pattern F, two; and Patterns G, H, and I with one each.
How or why they were found inside the burnt bodies of dead animals, mattered little to 513. He had given-up trying to find the reason behind many things, not because he lacked curiosity, but because it was not a priority.
What did matter to him however, was their potential value. While inside the rucksack, the stones rubbed-up against one another and the cloth containing them, which worked to polish their surfaces. Upon examining them, they glittered like well-cut jewels; their sheen, blinding.
Surely, they would fetch a decent price if he ever managed to leave the forest.
By mid-day, the smog that had lingered just above the forest floor, retreated several meters into the air.
513’s gaze wandered about as he contemplated the next steps he needed to take before daylight vanished. It was at this moment that his wandering eyes spotted a strange object wedged inside a nearby fallen tree -- one of the few that were not fully destroyed by the fires. It was only made visible due to the smog rising in elevation.
Propping up to his feet he approached it carefully.
Using one of the obsidian-colored bones as a short spear, he poked at the object until it came loose from the tree. With the object now on the ground, 513 realized what it was -- a torn leg of a large animal; it was meat untouched by the fires.
513 dragged the leg, which rivaled his own height, towards the large, semi-burnt tree stump he used as a place to rest; it was the only distinct landmark he could pick-out from a distance.
Provided it was edible, there was enough meat on the leg to feed him for several days. However, rather than cooking the meat right away, he set it aside and searched for more.
513 spent the next remaining hours of sunlight gathering whatever food he could find, along with other useful materials. He stored them into mounds organized by size, shape, type of material, and potential use; he was hoarding anything and everything.
The latter half of the day was quite productive for 513. The smog lifting in elevation made it possible to search unimpeded.
With daylight fading and the night’s darkness only a few moments away, 513 halted his gathering operations and switched all of his attention to digging a shallow pit. The pit was designed to be three meters in diameter and one meter deep. Its purpose was to serve as a cooking station, a smoking/preserving station, a potential forge in the future, and a makeshift shelter once completed.
It was well into the night by the time he finished the pit’s basic construction. He worked tirelessly on it, even in pitch darkness. However, after completing its first stage, 513 felt no sense of pride or achievement. Instead, he felt lonesome.
The distractions of the day had all been completed, and now, he needed to face a night filled with mental demons -- both his own and those foreign to him.
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Day 9; 0318 (Early Morning)
Focus: 513
513: “Hmm.”
513 grumbled to himself, momentarily stopping his search for firewood.
513: “...that happened yesterday, right?”
Tilting his head to one side, he pondered, slightly confused by the passage of time.
513: “Hmm.”
Grumbling once again, he resumed his search.
513: “...I should’ve started a fire after completing the basic outline of the pit...why didn’t I do that?...ah, there you are.”
He questioned himself over his mishap, just before locating the mound containing the materials needed to start and maintain a fire.
Dismissing his self-imposed inquiry, he carried the materials over into the shallow pit.
First, he laid down a thick layer of firewood to act as a base for the fire. Then, he arranged the kindling in a manner that would easily ignite once the ember was set inside its center.
This was the reverse fire technique that he had learned while camping as a young adult. It was an efficient, long-lasting campfire that used the coals created from the top of the structure, to ignite the layers below it. The other benefit of this arrangement was that it could be used on top of snow, or wet, damp ground -- the firewood base acts as a dry floor which embers fall onto, allowing them to keep burning, rather than snuff out in the poor conditions.
He rolled the baseball-sized ember towards the pre-constructed campfire with the long stick he used earlier. Then, using two obsidian-colored bones as extensions of his own arms, he picked-up the ember and placed it inside the nest of kindling.
Blowing on it gently, he fed the large ember with oxygen, causing it to glow bright and burn hot. The kindling surrounding it wilted, discolored, and smoked until it caught fire.
513 then fed the fire with more kindling and various sized pieces of wood to keep it going.
Gradually, the white smoke from the campfire disappeared -- a sign of proper combustion. At this point, he changed his focus from tending to the fire to butchering the meat he had collected the previous day.
513: “Huuup.”
Grunting as he leapt-up from the pit onto level ground, he surveyed the surrounding area with the glow of the campfire at his back. [Nice, this is nice.] He thought to himself, content that the light of the campfire reached his collection of organized mounds.
513: “Portion the meat, cook, smoke, and preserve...find drinking water...create weapons, tools, armor...train my body...setup traps...finish construction of habitation…build a workshop, water collection...practice hunting, fighting, distractions, camouflage...”
He mumbled to himself while walking over to the mound of animal parts.
513: “Talking...I need to keep talking to myself. If I don’t...”
His monologue continued as he dragged a large carcass towards the campfire.
513: “Hmm. I didn’t think this through.”
Taking glances between the carcass that he had left at the edge of the pit and the campfire, he pondered over how he was going to cut the pile of meat into manageable pieces. [I don’t have a knife…] He confessed sorrowfully.
513: “Ah, yes. The bones.”
Grabbing one of the obsidian-colored bones he used earlier in starting the campfire, he visually checked its edge for sharpness by holding it up in-front of the campfire and peering at its ridge. [This might work.] He told himself.
He then tested the bones’ sharpness by thrusting it into the carcass. Surprisingly, it pierced the meat without much resistance. Then, he swung at the carcass with a rising slash, to check its ability to cut. Again, he was surprised at its ability, which exceeded his expectations.
513: “Ooo-uuu. Interesting. Wait, what’s happening?”
513’s praise was cut short as he observed remnant blood from the carcass snake towards the obsidian-colored bone, as if drawn to it. Then, like a vacuum, the bone sucked-in all the blood into itself until there was none left. [Dangerous.] He thought.
513: “Ah, aha-haha…”
He nervously laughed, realizing that if he had cut himself with the bones, he would have been sucked dry.
513: “Rock...a sharp rock sounds like a better tool for this.”
He rationalized, clearly afraid of using the obsidian-colored bones until he had a better grasp at their properties.
513 spent the rest of the morning skinning, butchering, and curing the meat from the carcass he had dragged over. The entire time, he talked to himself in order to keep his mind active.
By early afternoon, he decided he had postponed his trip to the dreamscape long enough, and voluntarily went to sleep.
---Chapter End