I'm bored at work, so I decided to pound out another (very) short story. I might continue this at some point if people want to read it. I might even continue it even if people don't want to read it. Still, feedback is appreciated as always.
Memory
What little moonlight passed through the narrow mouth of the cave was diffused by dark, pungent smoke. Near the rear of the cavern, a dull orange glow pulsed rhythmically from a lone clay brazier, illuminating the weathered features of the old Idama. His wide nostrils, like twin grottos set into the sharp crag of his nose, flared to inhale the smoke. He grimaced. The aroma of the chakruti vine was no pleasant experience, but its gifts were well worth the discomfort. As he exhaled, the Idama felt the doorway of his true mind creak open.
His were the old ways, as they had always been. Though the Intaki homeworld had been forever changed by the arrival of Gallente technology, its history could never be unwritten. The true mind of the Idama was a vessel for the memories of his people, just as the ageless cavern in which he now sat was a vessel for the ancient rituals of reflection. As his breath grew deeper and slower, the Idama sank deeper into the realm of his long memory.
The chakruti ritual had long been an integral part of the path; a way for Idama to call up the memories of past lives lived. Gallente technology offered new means of recording such things, new ways of remembering, but the old ways were ever the best ways. No machine could ever reach that dark and secret place the old man now sought. He looked not into the memories of other lives, as was the way of most Idama, but into that lightless vacuum between lives. The Idama Ragunda Jat sought the void, and though he had but little notion of its strange sentience, the void sought him in turn.
The same strange power that echoed in the spaces between the stars pulsed behind the old man’s tightly shut eyes, beating like a drum in time with his heart. Even the dull orange light from the brazier joined in that strange rhythm, flickering as though in fear of the coming darkness. The wind gusted across the mouth of the cave, playing a deep, even note that seemed, like everything else, to echo in time with the pulse of the encroaching void.
With a small start, hardly noticeable in the dim smoky light of the cave, Ragunda Jat tensed. In the depths of his true mind the darkness had bloomed, and much to his surprise it was speaking to him. There were no words at first, only a low buzz like the call of some alien insect, but he somehow knew it to be language. Slowly, the buzzing took shape into something the Idama could understand. “Etherium Reach,” it buzzed, the words echoing in time with the all encompassing pulse of the void.
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Topic: Memory (Read 1055 times)