fiction - ljidol week 10 - take a hike
Mar. 2nd, 2017 06:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hwango1,341 words
Across the water, Oswald and Dr. Carson could see the island that was their destination. It was covered with some of the densest, greenest forest that either of them had ever seen.
"It's beautiful," said Oswald.
"I suppose," said Dr. Carson.
"Oh, come on, Ted! How can you look at that and not feel a sense of wonder at the majesty of nature?"
"Easily. All I have to do is think about the mud we will slip in, the half-buried roots we will trip over, and the mosquitoes that will try to drain us dry of blood as we're walking through it all," said Dr. Carson.
"Nonsense! The locals assured me that it's an easy two hour hike up from the beach to the ruins. And it's the wrong season for mosquitoes."
"Hmm. Are these the same locals who refused to take us to the island, which is why you are now the proud owner of this leaky old rowboat?"
"It will be fine. You'll see."
Oswald and Dr. Carson were archaeologists, though technically only Dr. Carson had the official academic credentials to prove it, whereas Oswald was just a well-educated man who liked poking about in ancient ruins and traveling the world taking in the scenery.
They complimented each other well. Dr. Carson was fluent in twelve languages, but all of their native speakers had been dead for hundreds of years. Oswald could speak eleven different languages that were still in common use, which was useful when they were off in some foreign land and needed to be able to say, for example, "we need help, my friend has been bitten by a snake." Or crocodile, centipede, camel, bat, zombie, small child, or - on one particularly memorable occasion - giraffe.
Carson was never happier than when he was clearing the accumulated dust of centuries off of an artifact of priceless historical significance. He went on expeditions armed with tiny brushes, magnifying glasses, and notebooks. Oswald was never happier than when he had found a secret door that was booby-trapped with swinging blades. He went on expeditions armed with an elephant gun in case they ran into mummies or shoggoths or something. Dr. Carson was dismayed at how often Oswald found something that made him happy, and how often they'd needed the gun.
Oswald privately suspected that Carson had become an archaeologist because he thought that people who had been dead for hundreds of years were preferable to people who were still alive. Carson openly told anyone who would listen that Oswald had become an archaeologist at the express command of a cruel and sadistic universe so that he could drag Carson with him around the world to discoveries so implausible and fantastically dangerous that they didn't dare publish half of them.
If they were not such dear friends, Carson would surely have murdered Oswald years ago.
Four hours after they'd dragged the boat up onto the beach and set out into the trees, Carson was not quite yet contemplating that particular murder, but he was getting closer with every passing minute. It was true that there were no mosquitoes, and there was surprisingly little mud. There were, however, an astonishing number of half-buried roots, and he was fairly certain he'd tripped over the exact same root three times now. He had barely opened his mouth to speak on this topic when Oswald quickly cut him off.
"We're not lost," Oswald said.
"Oswald," said Dr. Carson, "no one ever says they're not lost unless they are lost and they are in denial about it."
"No, really. I'm sure we'll reach the site any minute now. You'll see."
"It's supposed to be a two hour hike, you said. Even accounting for the locals trying to make us feel inferior by shaving an hour off how long it should really take, we're still badly overdue. And I swear this is the fourth time I've tripped over this particular root. We're getting to be old friends, this root and I. I feel like I should name it," Carson said.
"Now that you mention it, that tree does look rather familiar. I remember the funny grooves in the bark, because they look like a face," said Oswald.
"That doesn't look anything like a face."
"Of course it does! See, there's the mouth, and that knot is one of the eyes, and the other - gah!"
"What in - Oswald, please tell me that tree did not just blink. Because trees don't blink, because trees don't have eyes."
"Um," said Oswald.
"This is a new low for us," said Carson. "Normally we at least make it to the dig site and start poking around before something tries to kill us."
"That's not fair, Ted. Nothing has actually tried to kill us, yet."
They had stopped walking while they considered the tree that definitely did not have eyes, and suddenly Carson realized that some roots had wrapped themselves around one of his feet. He yanked his boot free and then just pointed at the root while he glared at Oswald accusingly.
“Let’s not wait around for them to try,” Oswald said. “Back to the boat?”
“Under the circumstances, that’s probably best,” Carson said as he kicked away another acquisitive root.
The pair turned around and broke into a run, which seemed insanely dangerous considering how treacherous the terrain was, but which still seemed less dangerous than moving slowly and letting the terrain get ahold of them. Some of the trees were moving more obviously now, as if aware that the jig was up. Carson found it ironic that he and Oswald actually seemed to be tripping less frequently now that they were running with wild abandon. Perhaps they were now too quick for the trees to catch.
After several minutes of frantic running, they emerged into a small clearing filled with overgrown pieces of crumbling stonework.
“Are you serious?!” Carson said in disbelief.
"Oh, look! See, I told you we were nearly there," Oswald said.
"Oswald, we wanted the boat!
"Yes, well, we also wanted the ruins, and here they are. And it doesn't look like any of the moving trees have followed us this far. Maybe we should avail ourselves of the opportunity to actually take a look at what we came here for."
"Are you insane?! We can't just - oh, I think I see some pottery fragments behind that rock. Well. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to rest for a bit, and we may as well have a look around while we do."
"That's the spirit, Ted."
"But if we end up getting eaten by trees I want you to know I'm holding you responsible."
"That sounds fair."
And so Oswald and Dr. Carson spent several productive hours unmolested by carnivorous vegetation. In fact, by the time the two of them managed to rig an improvised grappling hook to escape from the snake pit and Oswald had dispatched the vampiric giant moles with his elephant gun, the ambulatory trees had long since gotten bored waiting for them and wandered off. Dr. Carson had filled several pages with notes and drawings and collected and carefully packaged a few easily-portable artifacts, and his mood was much improved.
It would be getting dark soon, and neither of them wanted to spend the night on the island, so they warily set off back into the forest. Now that they knew what to watch for, the weirdly mobile trees were not too difficult to spot among their more conventional fellows, and the two men managed to avoid most of them. All in all, Dr. Carson would have been willing to rate the expedition as one of their least problematic ever, right up until the moment they emerged from the trees onto the beach and saw the giant squid devouring their rowboat.
"Oswald," Dr. Carson said, "have I mentioned recently that I hate you?"
"It's actually been several days since you've said so, Ted," Oswald replied.
"Well, in that case - I hate you," Carson said.
"Duly noted," said Oswald.
Across the water, Oswald and Dr. Carson could see the island that was their destination. It was covered with some of the densest, greenest forest that either of them had ever seen.
"It's beautiful," said Oswald.
"I suppose," said Dr. Carson.
"Oh, come on, Ted! How can you look at that and not feel a sense of wonder at the majesty of nature?"
"Easily. All I have to do is think about the mud we will slip in, the half-buried roots we will trip over, and the mosquitoes that will try to drain us dry of blood as we're walking through it all," said Dr. Carson.
"Nonsense! The locals assured me that it's an easy two hour hike up from the beach to the ruins. And it's the wrong season for mosquitoes."
"Hmm. Are these the same locals who refused to take us to the island, which is why you are now the proud owner of this leaky old rowboat?"
"It will be fine. You'll see."
Oswald and Dr. Carson were archaeologists, though technically only Dr. Carson had the official academic credentials to prove it, whereas Oswald was just a well-educated man who liked poking about in ancient ruins and traveling the world taking in the scenery.
They complimented each other well. Dr. Carson was fluent in twelve languages, but all of their native speakers had been dead for hundreds of years. Oswald could speak eleven different languages that were still in common use, which was useful when they were off in some foreign land and needed to be able to say, for example, "we need help, my friend has been bitten by a snake." Or crocodile, centipede, camel, bat, zombie, small child, or - on one particularly memorable occasion - giraffe.
Carson was never happier than when he was clearing the accumulated dust of centuries off of an artifact of priceless historical significance. He went on expeditions armed with tiny brushes, magnifying glasses, and notebooks. Oswald was never happier than when he had found a secret door that was booby-trapped with swinging blades. He went on expeditions armed with an elephant gun in case they ran into mummies or shoggoths or something. Dr. Carson was dismayed at how often Oswald found something that made him happy, and how often they'd needed the gun.
Oswald privately suspected that Carson had become an archaeologist because he thought that people who had been dead for hundreds of years were preferable to people who were still alive. Carson openly told anyone who would listen that Oswald had become an archaeologist at the express command of a cruel and sadistic universe so that he could drag Carson with him around the world to discoveries so implausible and fantastically dangerous that they didn't dare publish half of them.
If they were not such dear friends, Carson would surely have murdered Oswald years ago.
Four hours after they'd dragged the boat up onto the beach and set out into the trees, Carson was not quite yet contemplating that particular murder, but he was getting closer with every passing minute. It was true that there were no mosquitoes, and there was surprisingly little mud. There were, however, an astonishing number of half-buried roots, and he was fairly certain he'd tripped over the exact same root three times now. He had barely opened his mouth to speak on this topic when Oswald quickly cut him off.
"We're not lost," Oswald said.
"Oswald," said Dr. Carson, "no one ever says they're not lost unless they are lost and they are in denial about it."
"No, really. I'm sure we'll reach the site any minute now. You'll see."
"It's supposed to be a two hour hike, you said. Even accounting for the locals trying to make us feel inferior by shaving an hour off how long it should really take, we're still badly overdue. And I swear this is the fourth time I've tripped over this particular root. We're getting to be old friends, this root and I. I feel like I should name it," Carson said.
"Now that you mention it, that tree does look rather familiar. I remember the funny grooves in the bark, because they look like a face," said Oswald.
"That doesn't look anything like a face."
"Of course it does! See, there's the mouth, and that knot is one of the eyes, and the other - gah!"
"What in - Oswald, please tell me that tree did not just blink. Because trees don't blink, because trees don't have eyes."
"Um," said Oswald.
"This is a new low for us," said Carson. "Normally we at least make it to the dig site and start poking around before something tries to kill us."
"That's not fair, Ted. Nothing has actually tried to kill us, yet."
They had stopped walking while they considered the tree that definitely did not have eyes, and suddenly Carson realized that some roots had wrapped themselves around one of his feet. He yanked his boot free and then just pointed at the root while he glared at Oswald accusingly.
“Let’s not wait around for them to try,” Oswald said. “Back to the boat?”
“Under the circumstances, that’s probably best,” Carson said as he kicked away another acquisitive root.
The pair turned around and broke into a run, which seemed insanely dangerous considering how treacherous the terrain was, but which still seemed less dangerous than moving slowly and letting the terrain get ahold of them. Some of the trees were moving more obviously now, as if aware that the jig was up. Carson found it ironic that he and Oswald actually seemed to be tripping less frequently now that they were running with wild abandon. Perhaps they were now too quick for the trees to catch.
After several minutes of frantic running, they emerged into a small clearing filled with overgrown pieces of crumbling stonework.
“Are you serious?!” Carson said in disbelief.
"Oh, look! See, I told you we were nearly there," Oswald said.
"Oswald, we wanted the boat!
"Yes, well, we also wanted the ruins, and here they are. And it doesn't look like any of the moving trees have followed us this far. Maybe we should avail ourselves of the opportunity to actually take a look at what we came here for."
"Are you insane?! We can't just - oh, I think I see some pottery fragments behind that rock. Well. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to rest for a bit, and we may as well have a look around while we do."
"That's the spirit, Ted."
"But if we end up getting eaten by trees I want you to know I'm holding you responsible."
"That sounds fair."
And so Oswald and Dr. Carson spent several productive hours unmolested by carnivorous vegetation. In fact, by the time the two of them managed to rig an improvised grappling hook to escape from the snake pit and Oswald had dispatched the vampiric giant moles with his elephant gun, the ambulatory trees had long since gotten bored waiting for them and wandered off. Dr. Carson had filled several pages with notes and drawings and collected and carefully packaged a few easily-portable artifacts, and his mood was much improved.
It would be getting dark soon, and neither of them wanted to spend the night on the island, so they warily set off back into the forest. Now that they knew what to watch for, the weirdly mobile trees were not too difficult to spot among their more conventional fellows, and the two men managed to avoid most of them. All in all, Dr. Carson would have been willing to rate the expedition as one of their least problematic ever, right up until the moment they emerged from the trees onto the beach and saw the giant squid devouring their rowboat.
"Oswald," Dr. Carson said, "have I mentioned recently that I hate you?"
"It's actually been several days since you've said so, Ted," Oswald replied.
"Well, in that case - I hate you," Carson said.
"Duly noted," said Oswald.
