Matthew studied the sword for a number of seconds. There were several things to note about it, even on merely a surface level. The blade was long and rather thin, with a tip that was surprisingly rounded; it reminded him, perhaps, of one of his mother’s knives used for serving butter and cheese, only stretched out much further. The handle of the sword was particularly strange; there was no hand guard, such as he had seen drawn in books, and it seemed much too wide to be able to fit your hand around comfortably.
But on the subject of comfort, he had entirely no desire to pick the weapon up in the slightest. He would have been perfectly happy to leave it on the floor of these caves to rust away. He did not wish for any harm to come to anybody that he encountered, and that was all that a weapon was designed for. He was fortunate, in a number of ways, that Mark was so calm and quiet; he thought of all of his classmates who had enjoyed pretending to be heroes from big American action films when they had been Mark’s age, gunning down armies of bad guys, misquoting one liners. It had always made him feel sick. He had never understood what made the idea of killing someone so enticing as the concept for a game. There was nothing that any human could do to make a dead person alive again, or to rise the person you had just killed from the dead. It was a sin.
He had born witness to the actions of SARS. It took only one bullet to tear a family apart.
They could not risk leaving it here, however. A weapon in the hands of anyone was a dangerous thing; a weapon in the hands of someone with bad intent was lethal. If somebody who did wish to harm others stumbled upon the sword while wandering through the tunnels… Matthew shuddered to think of the chain of events that might transpire, simply through neglecting to pick the weapon up.
“I… ah. Right. That.”
He slowly moved towards it, then stopped to look at Artie, making sure that his intentions were known to her.
“I shall be its caretaker for the moment. So that we both know exactly where it is.”
He knelt down next to the sword, gingerly picking it up with both hands, making certain that neither of them were in range of the blade itself. He understood how it was intended to work, now that he was looking at it closely. What he had initially thought was the handle of the sword was more similar to a metal glove, designed to protect his hand while he held it.
Matthew stood back up, hand now clutching the hilt of the sword. He did not, as he was sure many others would, have any temptation to begin swinging it around, acting as though he was preparing to fend off giant monsters. He made sure, instead, that the blade was firmly pointed towards the ground, away from anything, and more importantly, anyone. He nodded towards Artie, beginning to walk back the way they had come from.
He did not feel as though he wanted to say anything for a little while.
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CondorTalon
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And it's not like Artie had anything to say either. So they walked on in silence for a while.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
It was the only sound that either of them had made for the past... hmmm. Artie hadn't been keeping track of the time. It couldn't have been that long, could it? Ten minutes at most?
They still hadn't found it, but Artie wasn't saying anything. She let Matthew lead them, as he was the only one who would even have a hint of where he'd woken up.
But still...
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
They still haven't found it, and Artie was worried that they'd already veered way off course. Even though they had a light now, she knew that it was so easy to get lost in a situation like this. For all either of them knew, they were already gone way past where his stuff was. She didn't want to seem like a downer or a quitter, but, it might be better to cut their losses, and spend their energy trying to get out of here.
Just as Artie opened her mouth to say all this, the beam of the flashlight swept over a strikingly not-cave colored pile.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
It was the only sound that either of them had made for the past... hmmm. Artie hadn't been keeping track of the time. It couldn't have been that long, could it? Ten minutes at most?
They still hadn't found it, but Artie wasn't saying anything. She let Matthew lead them, as he was the only one who would even have a hint of where he'd woken up.
But still...
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
They still haven't found it, and Artie was worried that they'd already veered way off course. Even though they had a light now, she knew that it was so easy to get lost in a situation like this. For all either of them knew, they were already gone way past where his stuff was. She didn't want to seem like a downer or a quitter, but, it might be better to cut their losses, and spend their energy trying to get out of here.
Just as Artie opened her mouth to say all this, the beam of the flashlight swept over a strikingly not-cave colored pile.
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Pippi
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It had become a source of comfort after a while, the repetitive ‘clack clack clack’ of Artie’s crutches. It was a percussive rhythm, a drumbeat to dispel the fears and the flights of fancy that there was something lurking around every corner. It was a persistent, gentle noise, one that reminded him of the clock they kept in the nave of the church back home. On occasion, during sunset, when the church was bathed in the last rose gold light of the day, he would sit in one of the pews and read, accompanied only by the ticking of the clock ahead of him.
And, most importantly, it reminded him that he had somebody by his side, somebody who he was trusting, somebody which meant that he was not alone in this place.
But even with all of this attempting to soothe his mind and his soul, Matthew was still beginning to grow concerned as he walked slowly onwards, sweeping the beam of the torch in front of him to and fro as he did. They had not caught a glimpse of anything other than these stone walls ever since they had started walking again, and every tunnel and open area was beginning to look the same as the previous one. How many times, now, had he believed he recognised a turn to the left, or a certain rock formation, only for it to have been nothing but a false dawn?
Soon, no doubt, they would find their way to the mouth of this cave system. When they did, they would have to leave it behind. There was no other sensible choice for them to make; they had wasted too much time down here already. Whatever was on the surface, he could not imagine being worse than this. It would be difficult to survive without the supplies he had been issued, but he would have to find a way to make do, God willing.
The clacking of Artie’s crutches abruptly stopped. It took a few more moments for Matthew to realise why, his brain instead preparing to ask her what was wrong and whether she required a break. But there in front of them, lit up by the beam of the torch, was a bag, light brown in colour, and unmistakable for anything else.
Matthew hurried forwards, gently placing the torch on the ground, letting it illuminate the tunnel they were within. There was something else lying on top of the bag, very long and thin, and he felt his heart descend as the upsettingly familiar gleam of metal caught in the torchlight. But this, he realised, was different to the sword he presently carried. He recognised it; or, at least, he recognised the shape of the trident’s head. There was a very small Hindu temple within Lagos that he passed every so often to get to football matches across the city. A mural on the front wall depicted what he presumed were the various heroes and deities that the people who worshipped there believed in, along with various symbols and items of worship. In the center of the mural was this; the three-pronged trident head.
The sword could only ever be a sword. It was a weapon. That was all it was intended for. But this trident was a symbol. It was the same as the cross hanging around his neck. It was a symbol used to provide strength and comfort through difficult times. And although it was not his own religion, Matthew believed it would be able to do the same for him.
He worked as quickly as he could, unbuckling his bag and placing the sword inside; he would be able to check the other contents once they were in a less oppressive location. It stuck out awkwardly, the handle poking through the gap in the fabric, but it was still a much better solution than carrying it around with him, he thought. He picked the torch back up, and turned to face Artie, bag now secure on his back.
“Thank you, Artie,” Matthew said, smiling at her. “I believe this is a promising sign for us, and the road which lies ahead.”
He turned back around once more, aiming the torch down the passageway, then looking over his shoulder at the outline of Artemis.
“Let us go, shall we? I do not know about you, but I have had quite enough of this cave.”
And, most importantly, it reminded him that he had somebody by his side, somebody who he was trusting, somebody which meant that he was not alone in this place.
But even with all of this attempting to soothe his mind and his soul, Matthew was still beginning to grow concerned as he walked slowly onwards, sweeping the beam of the torch in front of him to and fro as he did. They had not caught a glimpse of anything other than these stone walls ever since they had started walking again, and every tunnel and open area was beginning to look the same as the previous one. How many times, now, had he believed he recognised a turn to the left, or a certain rock formation, only for it to have been nothing but a false dawn?
Soon, no doubt, they would find their way to the mouth of this cave system. When they did, they would have to leave it behind. There was no other sensible choice for them to make; they had wasted too much time down here already. Whatever was on the surface, he could not imagine being worse than this. It would be difficult to survive without the supplies he had been issued, but he would have to find a way to make do, God willing.
The clacking of Artie’s crutches abruptly stopped. It took a few more moments for Matthew to realise why, his brain instead preparing to ask her what was wrong and whether she required a break. But there in front of them, lit up by the beam of the torch, was a bag, light brown in colour, and unmistakable for anything else.
Matthew hurried forwards, gently placing the torch on the ground, letting it illuminate the tunnel they were within. There was something else lying on top of the bag, very long and thin, and he felt his heart descend as the upsettingly familiar gleam of metal caught in the torchlight. But this, he realised, was different to the sword he presently carried. He recognised it; or, at least, he recognised the shape of the trident’s head. There was a very small Hindu temple within Lagos that he passed every so often to get to football matches across the city. A mural on the front wall depicted what he presumed were the various heroes and deities that the people who worshipped there believed in, along with various symbols and items of worship. In the center of the mural was this; the three-pronged trident head.
The sword could only ever be a sword. It was a weapon. That was all it was intended for. But this trident was a symbol. It was the same as the cross hanging around his neck. It was a symbol used to provide strength and comfort through difficult times. And although it was not his own religion, Matthew believed it would be able to do the same for him.
He worked as quickly as he could, unbuckling his bag and placing the sword inside; he would be able to check the other contents once they were in a less oppressive location. It stuck out awkwardly, the handle poking through the gap in the fabric, but it was still a much better solution than carrying it around with him, he thought. He picked the torch back up, and turned to face Artie, bag now secure on his back.
“Thank you, Artie,” Matthew said, smiling at her. “I believe this is a promising sign for us, and the road which lies ahead.”
He turned back around once more, aiming the torch down the passageway, then looking over his shoulder at the outline of Artemis.
“Let us go, shall we? I do not know about you, but I have had quite enough of this cave.”
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CondorTalon
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Well, they'd found Matthew's stuff. Now... now what?
Now it was time get out of this cave, Matthew said. And yeah, Artie agreed. If she never came back to this cave for the rest of her life (heh), it'd be too soon.
"Yeah, let's get out of here," Artie concurred.
They'd get out of this cave, and then...
Well, she guessed that they would see. And they wouldn't need the flashlight to do so, either.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
((Artie Qiu continued in Ad Astra Per Aspera.))
Now it was time get out of this cave, Matthew said. And yeah, Artie agreed. If she never came back to this cave for the rest of her life (heh), it'd be too soon.
"Yeah, let's get out of here," Artie concurred.
They'd get out of this cave, and then...
Well, she guessed that they would see. And they wouldn't need the flashlight to do so, either.
Clack.
Clack.
Clack.
((Artie Qiu continued in Ad Astra Per Aspera.))
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Pippi
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Once more, Artie and Matthew headed off together, and once more, Matthew did not speak during their journey. Or, to be accurate, he did not talk to his travelling companion, although it was a much more comfortable silence on this occasion; what they were now surrounded by was an atmosphere of relief, as they had found what they were looking for, tempered with a determination to finally escape this terrible place.
But Matthew did speak a silent prayer as they walked, lowering his head and briefly shutting his eyes as they followed a particularly long and straight tunnel. He gave a prayer of thanks to the Lord for his guidance up to this point, and to ask Him to continue watching over him for as long as He could. He gave a prayer asking Him to look after Artie, should he be unable to do so any longer.
And, as they trudged onwards, seeking out the daylight which had been denied to them for so long, he gave a prayer, a selfish prayer that he felt as though God would not be able to answer, but which he simply knew he must make anyway.
He prayed that whatever it was they found outside would not make them wish they were back in the relative safety and silence of these tunnels.
((Matthew Omeruo continued in Ad Astra Per Aspera))
But Matthew did speak a silent prayer as they walked, lowering his head and briefly shutting his eyes as they followed a particularly long and straight tunnel. He gave a prayer of thanks to the Lord for his guidance up to this point, and to ask Him to continue watching over him for as long as He could. He gave a prayer asking Him to look after Artie, should he be unable to do so any longer.
And, as they trudged onwards, seeking out the daylight which had been denied to them for so long, he gave a prayer, a selfish prayer that he felt as though God would not be able to answer, but which he simply knew he must make anyway.
He prayed that whatever it was they found outside would not make them wish they were back in the relative safety and silence of these tunnels.
((Matthew Omeruo continued in Ad Astra Per Aspera))