The Agony on the Wind

7th December (Friday) – continued

Howard spends the remainder of the afternoon arranging our transport (camels) and remaining supplies (large waterskins). The group of us devise a plan to hide our departure, by publicly arranging to have the loco (if it works) leave in a few days time (so we can slip away prematurely, hopefully undetected by those who seem to stalk our movements). This became a moot point however, as I was fortunate enough to have a perfectly pleasant discussion with our stalker.

8th December (Saturday)

It happened that very next morning. Some of the group had left to make various arrangements, when Erik overheard someone suspiciously trying the handle of Howard’s door. Erik and I separated and sought out the “criminal” and I encountered him just outside the guest house.

He introduced himself as Jerome, and knew my name. He asked why we went to Dallol, but already knew we sought George Ayers. (Well, we haven’t been exactly subtle, I suppose. As a group, we seem to be fairly direct, which I admit I prefer.)

Jerome told me he represented a group of Guardians, entrusted to ensure a Great Evil does not arise again. He told me his ancestors had once sealed this Great Evil within (or below?) the very temple which Acuna and Ayers had not only unearthed but opened. It seems the unusual slow-down of work and laziness of the workers had come from various secret interferences by these guardians (of course, there is a logical explanation; although they also claimed to be responsible for the encouraging the volcanic eruption which re-buried the temple).

Jerome further old us not to concern ourselves with Ayers. He insisted they had taken pity upon the man, who had turned repentant. The Guardians (not Jerome himself, but others, for their collective knowledge is divided up among many) taught Ayers cleansing rites to purge the evil from within (although some would always remain, dormant, and able to reclaim him were he to become complacent). Ayers, he said, learned to control the corruption within him, and then left – that he will not wish to be disturbed or break the “rituals of self-denial”.

Jerome described the temple as an “eating pit” and said there are many mouths. But, he made the (one might say, perfectly logical, were it not for the material itself) point that where there are many mouths, they must lead ultimately to a stomach. Which was a disturbing image I hope does not take form in my dreams as the mouths have. He said if we insisted on travelling closer to Dallol, that we could find two more of their secret society in Kalluli by the names of Matthai and Muhoho.

Erik was close to tracking us down as our conversation ended, and Jerome went on his way.

I told the others all I had learned, and although this desert is beyond hot and nigh unbearable I feel we must press on to find Ayers. He is the only one who can tell us what’s truly going on with this cult, and his the only connection we have to know whether it has died at last. Considering we are pursued or attacked most everywhere we go, it seems that it cannot be truly over.

9th December (Sunday)

Howard’s camels have arrived, and although there are 5 (not the 6 he requested) and one has seen better days, we are determined to continue. No longer concerned about secrecy, we gather what we need and leave instructions with the train to meet us at Iron Forge.

The going is rough, particularly on Erik. No wonder he has me taking pictures of the Ethopian desert which he can pass off for Egypt – he has not the constitution to make a trip of it on his own. I suppose if you’ve seen one desert, you’ve probably seen them all, but part of me does wonder whether he truly intends the deceit, of its merely all part of the vague cover we’ve developed.

Quincy and Erik both struggle the most at first, but only Howard (who is accustomed to travelling this vast and deliriously hot wasteland) is truly coping well. We intercepted the train only half a day’s travel. A dune covered the track, and would take much manpower to remove. We had paid the train driver for a week, and offered him a bonus should he return and arrange for help and make it at last to Iron Forge. It is comforting to know there may be a quicker means of escape near the end of our trek.

We travelled on and the good doctor continued to suffer. It was only in the evening when we’d made camp that I could offer him much relief. He seemed to recover, but we have at least one more long day ahead of us. The stars that night were breathtaking. More than I have ever seen, and so different in appearance at this exotic location so far from home. But even they were of little comfort in the unforgiving heat.

The desert barely cools at all in the evening, and I’ve never slept well in a tent. My instincts to be on my guard leave me at my wits among the dark, unsettling, and unfamiliar noises. Howard’s snores were of some comfort – he seems to me a survivor, and must not have felt threatened if he could sleep so soundly.

10th December (Monday)

We are hot, sunburnt, uncomfortable riding, and apparently collectively gone mad – why else would we be chasing after some lunatic (but retired?) cultist through sand and sun on the opposite side of the world. We took the job, and I am determined to see it through. At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

We have the track of the train to follow, which gives me the comfort of not feeling completely lost. We note at least two further dunes which the men will have to clear to come through with the train. It could be worse.

It was Quincy who faltered that morning, and I did what I could for him. Without a tent, however, it was little enough. I silently praise the agency for my extensive medical training, although admittedly there was only so much I could do for dehydration and heat stroke without a change in circumstance. By mid-afternoon Erik was slumping in his saddle.

Fortunately, Howard noted Kalluli was only just beyond the next rise, and we helped him manage the rest of the way (after, left to his own devices, he dumped the remains of a canteen over himself before passing out entirely). Small favors, I suppose.

The local children laughed at his “sleeping” body slumped in his saddle, while Howard sought us out shade and shelter. We were invited into a hut, where a local woman tended to Erik with a thick salve (comprised of what I prefer not to imagine). This woman, we soon learned, was Matthai, of the secret Guardians.

She spoke to us of Dallol. She told us that Dallolites are very strange (but did not elaborate) and said that more and more nomads were travelling there every day, as if it were some sort of anchor. Some here in Kalluli say they have terrible nightmares. She reiterated much the same tale as Jerome, about an ancient evil which her ancestors had sealed away until Ayers & Acuna re-opened the temple.

Matthai told us that the Guardians divide up their information and rites so that no one person knows too much, but that the three of them who remain in this region do not know them. Only Ayers knows them. He can be found, she believes, beyond Dallol in the Halls of Oloth-Waaq (the caverns).

She further reiterates for us that Ayers has a darkness in him, of which he will never be rid. He can never repent enough or stop the rites, he will never lose the darkness until the Evil is destroyed. Well, one can only hope to some degree this may be true. If Ayers is truly repentant, perhaps he will tell us all we need to know and be of no further nuisance or danger.

We agreed a deal with a reluctant Matthai – that we would find out what is going on in Dallol, and in return she would provide us a guide to take us to Dallol and beyond to locate Ayers. She admitted (as had Jerome) that something was going on in Dallol, and it would be useful to them to know what it is.

We were unable, however, to refill our water supplies as much as we’d hoped. Between this crucial low supply and the for the good of our health, any trek we make beyond Kalluli will have to be brief. We make a plan to continue to Iron Point, then on to Dallol, then back to Iron Point (which we hope will be only long enough to resupply). I spoke briefly to Muhoho, to be sure these Guardians were all of like mind, and as they were we decided to move on.

11th December (Tuesday)

We made it to Iron Point, unsurprisingly with no train to meet us. The area is filled with rusted skeletons of old equipment rising up from the sand. The water tower stands empty. There is nothing for us here. It remains to be seen whether the train will make it through.

It takes us half a day to reach Iron Point and then Dallol. Along the way Erik began to falter again, and I myself begin to suffer. Howard called a stop, and Erik – suffering more than I could tell – lost control of himself to the heatstroke, disgustingly biting his own tender flesh between thumb and forefinger. I admit of the bizarre things I’ve seen over the years, this was among the top for most disturbing. And it would only become more so (disturbing) when we arrived in Dallol itself.

The guide urged us on, noting it was only another mile or two at the most, and in the end we carried on and made it to the village of Dallol. The guide himself, however, would not travel into the village itself. We agreed to meet him on the rise before the village in the morning, and – uncertainly, but hoping for shelter and hospitality – carried on into the village.

Perhaps we should have remained behind with our guide.

Unlike other places we have visited, no children gathered to greet and banter/beg us. We noted as we slowly rode in that many of the villagers (or locals, it was hard to tell) wore bandages, or were missing fingers or even hands and feet. Were they harming themselves as Erik had mysteriously done? Or each other? This… this is a bad place.

While Howard is greeted, I examined a nearby villager’s injuries, surreptitiously… and noticed there was trauma of all sorts – whipping, slashing, beating or bashing, but not necessarily biting.

Continuing on, following the directions Howard had received to the hut of some elder or tribal leader, we noted a young girl, stabbing herself with a shard of glass! To my relief, an older woman took the glass away from her – and then to my shock and disgust jabbed it into her own leg!!!

What is this place???!!!

We reached a hut, and two villagers preceded us within. As they entered we watched them run their hands over a lintel of broken glass, which was crusted with old blood. One of the villagers smiled at Erik’s bandaged hand.

We stepped into the main chamber; there was a rag curtaining a further exit from the room. Unlike the other women of the village, the woman who entered wore a top covering her breasts – or, more accurately, seemed to conceal just one breast. We could not see any other injury upon her (but quickly learned this meant little).

She was accompanied by an old, grossly mutilated man (a generous description). He sat upon a stump, with no eyes (just gaping sockets, indicating he had not been born that way), his legs were crossed but bore no feet (these had obviously been cut off); he had one good arm but the other was gone at the shoulder.

She spoke to the old man, called Hapte, who translated into French, which Erik translated for the rest of us: “The wind is pleased that you have come”. When asked what wind, she answered (through the translations) “We were told of your coming. You are his messengers.” She seemed to say further that He brought Us like the others. When asked who, she answered “The agony on the wind.”

Howard asked her whether the wind told them to do this (meaning injure themselves) she answered “Tshombe (meaning herself) she has seen you in her dreams. Were you not sent by the wind?” She continued “Surely you must understand. Your friend (indicating Erik, and his bandaged hand) understands the ecstasy of the agony the wind brings.”

Howard, obviously disturbed and distressed, as were we all, “Are you the only one who hears the wind?” Tshombe answered that she first heard the wind years ago, and now, by their worship, everyone can hear the wind. He asked further if it was related to when the volcano erupted and for the first time she looked disturbed. “It took us a long time to hear the wind after that occurred. That was a bad time. But now the wind brings its message.”

Howard asked – “what is the message?”

The old man gave her his one good hand, she placed it beneath her top where her missing breast would be. He grins and cackles and pulls it back… revealing welts like bite marks, and we can see them both bleeding.

Does she … could she… have a mouth where her breast should be?

What is this madness!!!!!!!!!