Beyond the Island
by John W. Steele
Young Brian Mudd is proud of his ability to travel in the astral realms — until he encounters Lord Nagual, who prefers to be called “Max.” Brian becomes Max’s apprentice and finds him a harsh, even cruel master but nonetheless an effective instructor. Meanwhile, Brian is taken with Karen Frost, with whom he feels he has a karmic link. And Brian’s karma is trouble.
Chapter 10
The morning broke clear and magnificent. I prepared a daypack with a couple bottles of water, some smoked beef sticks, and a few power bars. I left the lodge and wandered along the path that led up the steep incline of the ski slope.
About a quarter of a mile up the side of the mountain, I found a small break in the trees and entered the forest through a darkened portal made of overhanging tree limbs. The temperature dropped several degrees and the fleeting ghost of an achromatic mist hung in the air.
I followed an old rutted trail that led off through the woods. The woods were still and quiet, and a thick blanket of orange and yellow leaves covered the ground. Sunlight fell through the canopy of foliage overhead and splashed on the ground, creating dazzling golden patterns of color. The air was sweet and smelled of pine pitch, and the leaves crunched beneath my boots.
The trail ran along the shoulder of a deep ravine that dropped to a roaring whitewater stream far below. The walls of the chasm were made of limestone and were dotted with cliffs and crags that looked as though they had been gouged out by an ancient glacier. Enormous boulders sat on some of the cliffs like proud monarchs on their thrones.
Tenacious red pines clung to desolate pockets in the rock and thrived where nothing else could survive. Their roots gripped crevices in the rock; their trunks jutted out at a ninety-degree angle and then, like the neck of a camel, curved and rose into the sky to absorb the energy of the sun. I marveled at the courage of the trees. Despite all they had to endure, they never gave up and had become a tribute to life where there was once nothing but emptiness.
The towering hardwoods that surrounded me seemed to absorb some of the destructive forces that raged within, and the voices had lost their fury. I wanted to keep walking and never turn back. Nothing made any difference to me now, not the money, or things, or the feeling of security that came with them. I hated myself. All that mattered was what I was about to do to Karen.
In the distance, I saw a white column of water cascading down the face of an austere fissure in the limestone. The sound of its flow was like a gentle sustained sigh. I knew from my studies of the Indians that once dwelled here that this area was a place of power.
I approached the falls and stood at the precipice of a ledge located directly at the side of the fountain. A cloud of cool mist surrounded the fountain. The waterfall was vibrant and alive. I gazed down at the stream far below and watched the raging white water torrents collide with the jagged boulders.
Despite the magnificence that surrounded me, I could find no peace in this earthly paradise. Memories of the past and the present tormented me, and as soon as one negative thought snared me, a hundred others jumped on the pile. The faces of my victims paraded through my mind, surrounding me in a prison of guilt and anxiety. The idea of delivering Karen to Lord Nagual was more than I could bear.
I thought about Count Dracula and the detestable fate that was his forever. Yes, he’d been granted eternal life, but at what price? His survival depended on the blood of the innocent and he was forced to endure an existence sustained by constant craving. In many ways, I felt like Dracula.
I lamented the fact that those confined to an island are forced to endure endless craving as well, and without craving, it’s impossible to survive. Since I encountered the Nagual, I had been his slave, and I wondered how many more victims I would eliminate because of my fear of him.
I walked closer to the edge and stared down at the boulders. I could no longer succumb to the demands Lord Nagual had placed on me. I had wandered into a trap that I could not have foreseen and I was hopelessly tangled in a web of power I couldn’t control.
I reasoned that to dive headlong into the sea of Tyreus would be a better fate than to prey on the blameless and be fettered to fear for eternity. At least in Tyreus my suffering would not harm others.
Just as I was about to take the final step, I heard a rustle in the bushes behind me, followed by a voice I’d grown to abhor. The air grew stagnant with the smell of rotting meat, and I knew it was Nestor.
Copyright © 2009 by John W. Steele
