The official origin story of a famous video game character has been changed enough to create a great deal of confusion and consternation, so I felt it imperative to go in search of the truth. After painstaking research and a little adventure of my own, I pieced together some of the true story. I made enough of an impression to be invited to speak with the character in question, and I was granted permission to reveal the following eye-opening story.
Note: I no longer do this very often but I'm enabling comments for this story. I'm doing it because it's for a contest. Please be kind if you leave a comment. Thanks.
The Day the Tombs Trembled
by Terry Volkirch
I was bored out of my flippin' skull, flying in my family's custom, private jet. A monitor on the end of a swiveling metal arm played one of the latest blockbuster movies but I just couldn't get into it. I pushed the metal arm away from me and the soft, beige leather seat squeaked as I slumped down in it.
Mum wasn't very good company, sitting across the aisle from me, reading an archeology journal. It looked boring. My ultra posh life was dreadfully dull. How ironic that I couldn't afford a social life.
We were on our way to some cat show or something in Nepal. I didn't really know or care. I was just following along with Mum to keep her company and try to keep her out of trouble as Father ordered.
'My name?'
People called me Lorne at the time. My parents, in their infinite wisdom, named me after an American actor I'd never heard of. I had brown eyes and straight brown hair hanging down to my shoulders, mostly because Father hated it. I was a bit shy of average height for a bloke and quite above average in intelligence, though my mediocre grades wouldn't show it. School bored me so I had no chance of striking out on my own. I was stuck following after my parents, or just Mum for the moment.
'Yes, I know. Listen to the poor young man, whinging about his life of luxury.'
It's hard to feel sorry for the rich but there were a series of events that might evoke at least a wee bit of sympathy in all but the most hardened of hearts. The trouble started with technical difficulties. That's what I thought, though I suppose I'll never know for sure. I wasn't in the cockpit of the plane when we hit a pocket of severe turbulence and what I'll forever think of as the downdraft from hell. I'm sure we had one of the best pilots money can buy so I blamed the jet and an act of nature.
Mere seconds after hitting the turbulence, the aircraft felt like it dropped vertically for several thousand feet until it shuddered when a wing clipped a mountainside. We were going down, somewhere in the Himalayas. At least I had the good sense to be buckled in my seat. Otherwise, I would've been tossed about the cabin and badly broken everywhere.
Mum surprised me. She had her seat belt on of course but she uttered a phrase that shall forever haunt my memories. "Oh, bollocks," she said quietly, more irritated by the inconvenience than scared. She never showed fear, and before that day, I'd never heard her use vulgar language. I would've laughed if we weren't about to crash.
"Lean forward, Dear," she told me, her voice calm, "and wrap your arms around your knees."
I was a young adult but I still appreciated her direction. It helped keep me calm as well. "Yes, Mum."
"See you after we… land."
Then all was eerily quiet for another few minutes until everything shuddered again, much more violently this time as the belly of the plane scraped the narrow span of a glacier. We slid diagonally downward at a frightening speed, ever so slowly decelerating. The noise from the scraping of metal on rock and ice drowned out any shouts of pain or fear, and the bumpy ride threatened to loosen my teeth, but I'm sure it was preferable to hitting the walls of rock that I saw passing by the windows on either side of us. I just hoped we didn't run out of glacier before we stopped.
After a couple dozen minutes of adrenaline rush, we slowed enough to catch our breath and I saw the walls of rock turn away from us. We were nearly horizontal as we slid out onto the tongue of the glacier, turning slightly more than ninety degrees and stopping all too close to the high, jagged edge of an ice cliff that overlooked a small lake. I took a moment to appreciate the stark beauty of the view from my window before Mum brought me to my senses.
"We have to get out of here," she said, her voice stern. "Now."
We moved slowly, undoing the clasp of our seat belts and grabbing our small hand luggage as we made our way towards the door near the front of the plane. I briefly wondered about the pilot. So did Mum. She tried opening the door to the cockpit but it was locked with no signs of life beyond. The poor man was on his own.
The outer door of the jet hissed open on the cliff side. It unnerved me to be within the jet's wingspan from the edge of the cliff. The sight sparked my imagination, in which the glacier calved from the weight of the aircraft and dropped us to our death into the icy water below.
The jet leaned towards the cliff, the near wing touching the ice with the tail of the aircraft much closer to the cliff than the nose. Mum and I felt safer to climb over the wing than to try to pass round the tail. We scrabbled our way to the nose and quickly backed away from the danger. Neither of us thought to try to look in the cockpit window as we passed by it. The threat of imminent death concerned us more than anything else.
We'd gotten little more than two wingspans away when the jet trembled and slowly sunk from view. The glacier calved exactly as it had in my imagination, taking the jet and everything inside with it.
I heard Mum mutter yet another vulgar word as she thought about the fate of the pilot. "Shit."
In the waning light of dusk, we carefully picked our way over and up the glacier to reach one of the rock walls that we'd passed before at high velocity, looking for what appeared to be a cave. We needed shelter for the night. It wasn't likely we could hike far enough out of the mountains to endure the coming cold of night.
I noticed what appeared to be a small opening in the rock face when we were down by the jet, though as we climbed, we lost sight of it and had to guess its position. There were no footprints, human or animal, to guide us. We did manage to find the cave but only because of an ancient path carved into the side of the nearly vertical cliff. We followed the extremely narrow switchbacks up to the cave and gladly dropped our bags inside before coming back out to sit next to each other on some rock outcroppings just outside the entrance.
"They won't find us, not without our help," Mum said, shivering slightly. She wore a wool cardigan over her blouse but she needed a heavy coat. We both did.
"I know. Besides being in the middle of nowhere, the jet's at the bottom of the lake. Nothing to see from the air and I don't feel like spelling out SOS in the snow with rocks."
Mum almost smiled. "We might have to. I have a torch but it won't be of much use to signal anyone. It's not likely they'll search at night."
We needed a plan. Any decent chance of calling for help went to the bottom of the lake with the jet. We were lucky to have some extra clothes and a few other helpful things in our bags. Mum had a torch, like she said. She also had a few toiletries, some breakfast bars, a bottle of water and a couple magazines. Me? Besides a few clothes and half a bottle of water, I had a pack of cigs that I vowed to toss for good, a lighter, a large Swiss Army knife and some toiletries of my own. Between us we had enough to start a fire with pages from the magazine, and we could keep the fire going if we could find some wood, not likely given we were above the tree line.
When stars appeared en masse overhead in the mostly clear, midnight blue sky, Mum decided it was time to do something. Ever the practical one, she used her torch to take inventory, first of our bags and later, the cave. When she'd finished with our bags, she handed me a breakfast bar, telling me to eat only half of it. "Save the other half for morning. You'll be glad you did." Then she started exploring the cave.
I sat on the cold, stone floor, eating whilst watching the light of the torch, bobbing about in the distance, getting farther and farther away. I wondered how large the cave was and suddenly felt a stab of concern. I told Father that I'd stay with Mum through thick and thin. I couldn't let anything happen to her.
Getting up and slowly following after the bobbing light, I noticed that it stopped moving, and I could just hear my mother's voice. She'd found something interesting as she always spoke to herself when that happened. I hurried my pace and just as abruptly came to a halt as I finally noticed an amazing, dimly illuminated structure surrounding us.
'Oi… fook me.'
Intricate carvings of runes and figures ran along squared, stone pillars, topped by a flat stone lintel that supported yet another level above it. I couldn't make out much more. There wasn't enough light. The torch pointed down at an object in my mother's hands.
I often looked back at that moment and wished I'd done things differently, interrupting her instead of gawking at the ancient structure in that cave. If I'd interrupted her, she might still be here. As it was, she read aloud an inscription along the hilt of a short, curved sword that she held, and when she finished reading, the sword glowed for a brief moment. When that moment was over, the sword fell to the stone floor with a loud clang. My mother vanished, leaving only her clothes piled where she'd stood.
My initial reaction was one of shock. We'd survived a crash landing in the middle of the Himalayan Mountains. How could she just vanish before my eyes? My parents had entertained me over the years with some wild, fantastic stories, stories that I refused to believe could be true, but after that day, I strongly suspected they were true, all of them, and I think my parents had been either extremely lucky or extremely talented to have survived as long as they did. They most likely had a large amount of both luck and talent to save them, up to that point.
When the shock wore off, rage took over. "No!" I screamed, my voice echoing throughout the cave. I bent down to grab the hilt of the accursed sword before standing up to hold the curved blade up in front of my face. "Where's my Mum?! Bring back my Mum!"
In spite of having no magic ability of my own, the sword actually tried to obey my command as best it could. But instead of bringing back my mother, a lingering trace of magic changed my destiny, something that I wouldn't find out until many days later.
It interested me to discover that it wasn't the spoken runes and words so much as the sounds that mattered when using magic. Sounds activated the magic, something Mum had already done, and intention did the work. Intention was very important. I intended to get my mother back and I eventually did, in a way.
I found several large wooden artifacts, mostly tables and chairs, in the ruins of the cave, and I broke them to bits and burned them. It was either them or me and I refused to freeze to death. I'm sure archeologists everywhere would be quite upset at seeing my large bonfire at the mouth of the cave. Mum certainly would've been upset by the loss of the artifacts. But she'd understand and approve.
What started as a small campfire turned into a bonfire as I kept adding fuel to it. I thought to make it large to act as a signal just in case, and I wanted it to last a long time. I didn't have anyone to stand watch for me and keep the fire going while I slept.
I did inspect everything before I burned it, committing all the designs to memory. I could do that much for the archeologists. Besides, the knowledge might come in handy for researching Mum's disappearance. The artifacts were made from naturally colored hardwoods, mostly carved with either long, interwoven patterns of leaves or symbols representing the moon and stars. The ancient culture appeared to be a rich mix of the mystical and the natural. It didn't exactly excite me but I found it somewhat interesting, and it seemed to grow on me later in life.
After I broke up some extra bits to add later to the fire, I sat on a low, wooden bench, facing the flames with my mother's cardigan draped about my shoulders and on my back. I was slender enough to wear it but I couldn't bring myself to do so. It was bad enough that it still had her scent. It kept reminding me of her, reminding me how I lost her and how easily I could've prevented it. If only I'd been more focused!
In spite of my stolid male upbringing, I stretched out on the bench and cried myself to sleep.
Breakfast was a somber affair, consisting of shame, regret and my half-eaten breakfast bar, washed down with water. I thought about Father as I ate, wondering what punishment I'd get for my poor performance trying to keep Mum safe.
'Ten gold medals for thinking to follow her in the cave, son. Ten zillion demerits for losing her.'
He'd likely look at me with disappointment and tut tut me till I went stark raving bonkers.
I vigorously shook my head and moved on to the real culprit. Magic took her away. Could it also bring her back? Until that moment, it didn't occur to me to that the sword might be used to find Mum and bring her back. I couldn't do it myself. I knew next to nothing about magic. But Father might. He dabbled in such things along with Mum. He must know something.
I didn't wallow in pity for long after that. My initial shame and regret transformed into resolve. I resolved to make it back to civilization and home, and I'd bring the accursed sword with me. Nothing would stop me from getting back to civilization and no one would separate me from the sword until I could personally hand it to Father.
Another galvanizing thought occurred to me that morning in the cave. If I'd better applied myself starting at a young age, I might have learned enough about magic to use the bloody sword myself. What if time was of the essence? Mum could be caught in some other dimension, helplessly awaiting rescue. A bit sexist, I know. But the thought urged me on all the more, and I vowed to learn as much as I could about magic and archeology, two things that apparently went well together.
Inspired and motivated, I found a way of merging the hand luggage into a makeshift backpack. After firmly strapping the sword to one side of the backpack, I filled the pack with everything and added as many bits of wood as I could reasonably carry in case I needed dry fuel to start a fire. I had to be careful with what I carried. I still had to make my way down the treacherously narrow trail, and I'd likely have to climb to get off the glacier.
I made sure to completely extinguish the campfire and had a brief last look into the darkness. With a silent goodbye to Mum, I left the cave to begin my first real solo adventure.
A slight breeze added to the difficulty of climbing back down to the glacier. I wore Mum's cardigan and blouse along with two of my own shirts yet I still had to fight hard not to shiver from the wind chill lest I be knocked off the face of the rock wall. I made sure to keep three points of contact at all time and clung with all my might as I stepped. At the end of the ancient path, I collapsed onto the glacier, holding some of the icy snow to my face.
The trek down the glacier proved just as difficult, requiring my full concentration the whole way. I could see cracks and evidence of wider crevasses waiting to swallow the unwary, hidden as they were by fragile bridges of snow and ice. I was glad for paying attention in at least some of my classes. What knowledge I possessed likely saved my life that day.
When I stepped onto the first patch of rock and gravel at the base of the glacier, I thrust a fist in the air to celebrate before continuing the long slog down the mountains. I skirted the watery tomb that encased our family jet, and planned to follow the large stream that flowed out of the lake and tumbled down to the valley below. I'd need the stream for drinking water and I hoped it was free of intestinal bugs that might slow me down. To be on the safe side, I refilled my own empty water bottle from the lake since it should be clean enough. Being at such a high elevation, it wasn't likely to be contaminated by animals, though I did think to watch out for jet fuel. I also topped off Mum's half empty water bottle and went on my way.
Several large snowfields dotted the rocky terrain, along with the occasional stand of stunted, alpine fir trees. I made below the tree line by mid afternoon, and after crossing yet another large patch of snow, I saw a distinct set of humanoid footprints other than my own. Hope rose within me, hope that someone else inhabited or recently visited the area. That someone could very well have the means to communicate with the outside world. Still, caution became my new mantra, especially after I noticed separate toe marks in some of the prints. I'd never heard of any sane person who walked barefoot in the mountains.
I initially wanted to shout out for help when I first saw the footprints but I'm glad I didn't. I looked all round the area and then the oddest thing happened. I felt a sudden urge to look for sturdier trees and began to seek out a branch suitable to make into a bow. I knew I might have to defend myself.
I'd taken archery in school and had become rather adept at it, easily hitting the bull's eye of my target from a hundred meters. Of course that was with only the best of compound bows but my performance still impressed my instructors. I easily did better than everyone else in my class, all of whom had equipment of the same high quality.
Using a bow came easily to me. Building even a simple bow was another story. I put some thought into what it would take to make one as I walked, and I dropped a great deal in elevation before I found a good tree for the bow. I made sure to stay within range of the roaring sound from the nearby stream but every other little sound put me on high alert until the moment I spied several oak trees of moderate size mixed in with pine. I didn't trust pine. I broke a few small pine branches as a test and thought it too brittle. The oak seemed promising though.
I could reach a well-sized oak branch but separating it from the tree proved difficult. It wasn't until I remembered the accursed sword that I carried with me that I greatly simplified the task. I detached the sword from my pack and hacked away. After only a dozen hits, the branch broke free and again, I raised my fist in the air. The bloody sword came in handy for once.
The wickedly sharp blade of the ancient sword made me pause in thought yet again. Magic likely kept it sharp and in good condition as well as making people disappear. I wondered what else it could do when the baying of a fairly large animal sounded in the distance. It sounded like it was in distress, perhaps attacked by wolves or whatever passed for carnivores in the Himalayas.
I couldn't tell exactly which direction the wounded animal could be found. Echoes of its cries confused me to a degree. But I had a good guess and I moved towards it, thinking that I might take advantage of the situation. I'd wait out whatever predators lingered and see what I could salvage. I could use a little meat since I only had three breakfast bars remaining. I'd also need the gut to make a string for my bow. A bow isn't any use without a string.
With the sword loosely tied at my hip for easy access since it was the only decent weapon I currently had, I took out my Swiss Army knife and carved away twigs and bark from the oak branch as I walked. I almost started whistling but prudence reminded me to stay quiet.
The sound of the wounded animal had stopped quite a long time ago but I expected it to be nearby so I kept a close watch where I stepped to minimize what little noise I made. Another dozen steps and I slowly forced my way through a dense group of pine trees to emerge into a vast boulder field. The field stood about a hundred yards wide at the point I entered, slowly tapering to about half that width uphill to my left where it stopped at the base of a cliff. On the downhill side, several miles distant, it opened into a wide rocky plain that ended abruptly at the edge of a large forest beyond. Boulders of all sizes laid scattered about the field. Most of them ranged from half my height to about eye level with a few up to the size of a small house. Traversing the field might prove difficult and dangerous.
I stopped to listen and thought I heard heavy breathing to my left but I couldn't see anything. I slowly crept among the tops of a close series of larger boulders to keep the high ground and followed the sound of the breathing. I also made sure to keep the sword ready in my right hand.
When I topped the fourth boulder I saw a flash of movement directly below to my right and quickly dropped into a crouch. I also caught the strong, almost overpowering scent of feces and it was all I could do not to retch.
The breathing that I heard intensified so I figured I'd been detected. Slowly rising, the source of the breathing faced me, and at first, I thought it was a man wearing a heavy parka. It wasn't until I stood up all the way that I saw it was actually an extremely furry humanoid that looked exactly like how I imagined a yeti would look like if one existed.
The yeti did exist and it took umbrage with my presence, baring its teeth and holding its ground, defending what looked to be a large goat of some kind, dead on the ground behind it. I didn't move, and instead, stood there, transfixed by a living legend. First a magic sword and now a yeti. My world view crumbled before me.
The yeti decided to slowly advance but it suddenly stopped when the reflection of the sun off the shiny metal blade of my sword flashed in its face. It noticed the sword for the first time and began backing away whilst bowing its head at the same time.
I didn't know what to make of the behavior. It almost seemed as if the yeti were afraid of the sword, afraid or maybe even respectful. Did yetis know of magic swords? I shook my head but didn't make any sudden moves or aggressive gestures. I didn't want to tempt fate. The yeti seemed to be giving me a gift and I wasn't going to ruin the moment.
As soon as it backed beyond the dead goat, the yeti turned and slowly walked away, disappearing among the boulders. Its heavy breathing faded into the background noise of the roaring stream.
I waited several minutes after all traces of the yeti were gone. It took that long to get over my shock. I collected my wits and jumped back to a shorter boulder to more easily climb down, not fully believing what I'd seen and not trusting that the yeti was truly gone. As soon as I reached the ground, I wended my way through the boulders to the goat. The odor of death lingered from the goat but it was nothing like the smell from the yeti. That meant the goat was mine. I would've raised my fist in celebration but I was more relieved than anything else. I didn't fancy my chances of beating the furry humanoid, not without guns anyway. I really wished I had two pistols, one for each hand to ensure a quick kill.
The goat was very nearly intact with only the lower part of a hind leg missing most of its muscle. After a silent thanks to the yeti, I quickly began stripping away meat and laying it over a small rock to begin drying it to make jerky. I also set aside some sizable chunks of thigh meat for cooking later that day. Then came the more interesting task of gutting the animal. My bow needed a string and the gut from a large animal made an excellent source. I wasn't exactly sure how to do it but I reasoned that it would begin with cleaning. I used my knife to cut several lengths of intestine and planned to wash them with water from the stream. I wouldn't wash it directly in the stream as I didn't want to chance contamination when I refilled my water bottles farther downstream.
As I worked, it occurred to me to make use of other parts of the goat. Bone could be made into arrowheads and sinew could help tie down the leading edge of the fletching and could also be used to secure arrowheads to the shaft of an arrow. The animal's hide came in useful as well. I'd use most of it for a blanket and a simple bag to hold the meat, and I'd fashion the remaining scraps into a quiver for the arrows and a couple arm guards to protect against the bowstring. I made sure to harvest all that I could. My survival instinct ran strong within me.
Later that same afternoon, I finished with the goat carcass after scraping the inside of the goat skin clean and cutting it into various shapes. I packed meat into the folds of a few disposable pieces of the pelt and loaded myself with as much meat, bone, sinew and intestines as I could hold. Everything went into a single, large bit of pelt that I carried like a bag over one shoulder.
I left the carcass with what I hoped was enough meat to satisfy the yeti in case it came back. There's no way I could eat it all anyway. I had a last, loud shout, "I'm off now! Thank you for the goat! Please take care of the rest! Ta-ta!"
With the dirty work done, I thought about finding an easier path back to the roaring stream where I'd start looking for shelter for the night. I inwardly moaned at having so much to do. Living out in the wilderness certainly kept one busy. But at least I'd sleep well, assuming I could find a location where I could feel secure enough to sleep. Lengthening shadows hinted at the coming nightfall, causing me to quicken my pace as I took a different route through the boulder field and back to the stream.
A small alcove in the rocks high above one side of the stream proved more than adequate for shelter. It had a flat stone floor roughly the shape of a half circle with enough room for all my provisions, and it provided cover overhead in case of rain. I'd have to climb a fair distance to get to it so I knew I'd be safe from larger animals. Yetis might be another matter but I refused to think about them for the moment. I had too much to do.
Tending to the various caprine body parts was high on my task list, followed soon thereafter by fire. But first I had to deal with my pack. I left the pelt and its contents down below and climbed up the steep rock. After emptying my pack of its wood from the cave and most everything else, I took a short break to rest and reflect on things. I sat on the edge of the alcove, staring into space with my legs hanging down.
My first thought was of the yeti. I wondered if I'd see it again. I had a feeling I would, and If I did, I'd make sure I had my sword in hand. I had a real love-hate relationship developing with that sword. It zapped Mum, helped me get a bow and fended off a yeti, all in less than twenty four hours. I shuddered to think what else it would do during the rest of my stay out in the wilderness.
I hoped my journey back to civilization didn't take too terribly long. Everything worked out up to that point but I didn't have any formal survivalist training and I counted myself somewhat lucky to be in my current position. Still, I thought that as long as I kept going, I'd be okay. I just had to keep moving forward.
Even with my pack empty of everything but the sword and Swiss Army knife, climbing back down from my new, temporary home felt much too difficult for my age. Exhausted and very hungry, I moved on autopilot as I collected my bag of goat goodies and moved to a concave horizontal surface in the rocks not far from the stream. I splashed water into the stone hollow to wash everything without contaminating the stream, and after washing, I rinsed and squeezed every last bit of water that I could out of everything and wrapped it back up in my pack. I also added a few rocks to use as weights and a couple long sticks to use as skewers, and I filled the remaining room in my pack with firewood before returning to the rocky alcove.
Oddly enough, the climb up was easier than climbing down. I had a much easier time finding handholds and the promise of cooked meat had me motivated. As soon as I reached the alcove, I set aside the wrapped chunks of meat and laid out the strips of meat on the inner rock wall to continue drying before starting a fire.
The campfire soon started putting out good heat and I quickly had all of the meat on wooden skewers. I didn't have the patience to set up anything fancy. I simply held the skewers by one end and placed the meat over the open flames, and over the course of the next hour, I sampled the meat in various states from medium rare to well done and beyond. The meat had more flavor before I overcooked it but I didn't appreciate its gamy nature. I much preferred it well done. My spoiled taste buds still had some pride. After absolutely stuffing myself with every last morsel, I patted my satisfied stomach and got back to work.
With an hour of so left of daylight, I opened my pack to dry out everything, with the pelt spread over the rock floor close to the fire. I twisted two separate strands of gut together and tied one end to the end of my bow with my bow jammed vertically against the rock wall. On the other end of the gut, I managed to cobble together a mass of twigs and rocks to act as a weight. I needed to get rid of all of the stretchiness of the gut for my bowstring. I knew that much. After moving the strips of drying meat closer to the fire, I decided that I'd done enough. I could barely keep my eyes open. I refilled my pack with the few clothes that I wasn't wearing and laid down, using my pack as a pillow and keeping the accursed sword very near my side.
I wouldn't call it a good day but I felt satisfied. I accomplished more than I thought possible, especially for a rich, sheltered young man like myself. Mum loomed in the back of my mind along with Father. My parents could wait though. It was well past time for me to venture off on my own and be a man. I smiled and absently scratched at my chest as I drifted off to sleep.
Pain woke me the next morning. It felt like getting bludgeoned all around my waist. I found my right hand wrapped firmly around the hilt of the damnable sword and I quickly let go to wrap both arms around my stomach. Lying on the cold stone in a fetal position, I waited for what felt like an hour. It took that long for the pain to mostly subside, only to be replaced with the most annoying itching on my chest.
'Flippin' heck! What next?!'
As I laid there, scratching myself, I noticed the sword glowing, with the glowing gradually diminishing over the next thirty minutes or so. The sword looked normal again but I wouldn't touch it until I had some time to think about what I just witnessed.
After getting up to rekindle the campfire, I sat near it to warm myself and wolfed down half a breakfast bar followed by several strips of dried meat. I kept the sword near my feet to stare at it whilst eating. At one point, my last memories of Mum flashed before my eyes, all too vivid memories that made me blink in confusion. Somehow I knew the visions had something to do with that sword. All of the weird effects that occurred since my mother vanished were connected to the magic of that sword.
I felt a sudden urge to grab the ancient artifact and throw it as far away as I could but that wasn't going to happen. I still needed the sword for security sake as well as needing it for answers. Father would likely do more than scold me if I came back without it. That much was certain.
My itching had been all but forgotten whilst I ate but it returned with a vengeance after finishing my meal. I wondered if I had some sort of rash. I wanted to check but the air was too cold to consider removing my several layers of clothing. Instead, I reached up underneath and probed my skin.
Something about my chest felt wrong and it took me a moment to realize what it was. Although the skin felt smooth and free of any rash, I eventually noticed that I lacked any hair. By the time I'd reached my twenty first birthday, I'd grown a fairly good size patch of hair in the middle of my chest but the area had become completely hairless.
Puzzling over this latest mystery, I scratched my head and noticed yet another odd fact. My hair felt longer in the back. During the flight, it didn't reach much past the top of my shoulders but as I grabbed a handful of strands, I pulled my hand down and forward, reaching halfway down my upper arm before the end of my hair slipped out of my hand. That meant more magic and more unanswered questions.
I shrugged off the mysterious body changes and climbed down with minimal gear to relieve my bladder a fair distance away. At least that part was normal, if a bit cold.
With my empty pack, two empty water bottles, sword and knife, I decided to try a little foraging, and I left the two water bottles empty for the moment. I didn't need the extra weight. I'd use them as needed and fill them after leaving the alcove for the last time. I didn't have to fill them since I'd be following along the stream but I'd do so anyway in case I detected jet fuel in the water or wanted to leave the valley for whatever reason.
A good portion of the morning was spent foraging, leading to a significant quantity if not variety of edible flora. With the bottom of my pack full of pine nuts and young dandelion plants, I made my way back to the stream and as usual, I taste tested the stream water for jet fuel before drinking my fill. With my thirst quenched, I climbed back up to the alcove, where I spent the remainder of the morning working on my bow.
After rekindling the fire once again, I started with the gut, melting the two strands together at one end before tying the end in a timber hitch knot. Then I carefully measured out the length of the strands and trimmed the other end. I melted that other end and tied it in a timber hitch knot as well, declaring the bowstring finished. I had more than enough intestine to make a second bowstring but I waited to see how the first one worked before making a second one. I wanted to see if I might need to make any changes or improvements.
The oak bow took more time. It required a lot of carving and well-placed cuts at both ends of the branch. After adding notches, I pushed my knee into the middle and strung the bow. With a quick test of pulling the string back, I let out a sigh of relief as I released the string. It seemed to work, so I unstrung it, rolled the string up and stuffed it in a pocket of my jeans.
Next came preparations for the arrows. I'd look for suitable material for shafts after resuming my hike but I still wanted to work on the arrowheads and fletching. I first took a rock and broke up bone into rough blanks that I shaped and sharpened. Thanks to the various attachments of my Swiss Army knife, it didn't take long to produce a couple dozen arrowheads.
I had to think about the fletching. Bird feathers would work best but I didn't see any loose feathers about on the ground. I rarely saw any birds, though I did hear one that sounded much like a pheasant back home in England. I hoped to eventually kill one for the meat as well as the feathers. In the meantime, I'd try using pine needles in lieu of feathers. I'd cut notches lengthwise along the back end of the shaft, diagonally jam several pine needles into the notch and tie off the leading edge with sinew. I might even try sealing the sinew with pine pitch. Hunger was a strong motivator to make the best arrows I could.
Working on my bow and arrows helped pass the time and distract me from both my hunger and the nearly incessant itching of my chest. The itching itself didn't worry me but I started feeling odd and I did worry. My body felt too large, if that made sense. I felt too large and clumsy, like when I went through puberty and had a growth spurt, and I seemed to hit my knees and elbows on everything because I wasn't used to my new size. It didn't sound serious, except when my imagination came into play. My condition became harder to ignore as time wore on, and I eventually imagined what might happen if I developed the flu. I didn't like the final outcome. It was a little too final.
My sudden dark thoughts put me off doing any more work so I thought about getting ready to leave. I refused to give any more thought to the ending of my life if I could help it. I had too much to live for, too many things left to do, the most important of which was to scour the world for a way to bring back my mother. I had to get back to civilization as soon as possible.
Making the bow slowed me down but it was an important investment of my time and effort. I didn't know how long it would take me to find a city or town and I needed to eat in the meantime. I couldn't guarantee any food source so I made sure I had a good chance of getting meat if an animal wandered within range of a simple bow. As much as I'd like to throw away the accursed sword and chance hitting and killing something, I needed the bow and arrows, and besides, I found it immensely satisfying to make them. Making them gave me a better appreciation of archery than anything else.
I shook my head when I realized how much I sounded like Father then. He often lectured me about such things and I could almost see the look of approval on his face were he there to see me. That went for Mum as well. I supposed there were worse things than making your parents proud, but like everything else that caused me the least little discomfort, I expertly shrugged it off and carried on in the British way.
I put out the fire and organized my possessions on the stone whilst nibbling dried meat, pine nuts and dandelion. The combination of flavors appealed to me and I silently thanked nature for having the good sense to spread animals, pine trees and dandelions far and wide across the globe. When I finished my latest inventory, I reminded myself to look for suitable branches to make arrow shafts as I hiked and I'd remember to make arm guards and a quiver from the scraps of goat skin as well as arrows with whatever time I had left after I settled down to camp for the night.
A sudden, loud yowl, far off in the distance startled me with its uncanny timing. I felt more than a little anxiety when I thought of about leaving my safe little alcove. I seriously doubted there were many stone alcoves around and I wouldn't accept anything less secure. I'd sleep in a tree if I had to, with my pack and everything else hanging from high branches around me.
I smiled when I visualized a modern tree house until another, closer yowl spurned me into action. The sooner I left, the sooner I'd get home, and the more time I'd have to find another good campsite, so I quickly but carefully packed up everything. I had some spare dry wood from the cave, one magazine and various other bits to fit in with the remaining foraged food, dried meats and various pieces of goat skin. With the pack full, I cleaned the one large pelt, rolled it up and tied to to the bottom of my pack with sinew and I attached the sword to its usual spot on the side. The bow temporarily went on the other side of the pack, staying there until I climbed down and retrieved the bow to use as a walking stick. It was time to continue my journey.
Time dragged at a snail's pace as I walked through a dark forest. Every little sound, whether it be a scolding bird, a snapping twig or a sudden increase in volume of the roaring stream, had me on edge. A feeling of foreboding lingered in the back of my mind, getting stronger the farther along I walked.
Foraging as I went helped ease my mind to a degree. I didn't have any extra room in my pack so I immediately nibbled whatever I picked up. Starvation was far from an immediate concern.
Keeping an eye out for arrow shaft material also helped. I nearly shouted for joy when I found a sizable stand of birch trees. I looked at the trees and saw only finished arrows in place of the thin, straight branches. I harvested a dozen long branches that I hoped could each be divided in half to make two arrows. That would make enough shafts to go with the same number of finished arrowheads. I carried the bundle of birch branches under my arm and had to restrain myself from whistling a happy little tune as I walked.
I'd gotten a late start and my body still felt a little off. I didn't hike as many miles as I liked before the lengthening shadows signaled that it was time to start finding a place to camp for the night.
I'd given up on the idea of finding a cave. I wouldn't sleep in one if I found it anyway. It'd likely be inhabited by one or more animals that probably wouldn't accept my presence without a fight. A rocky alcove wouldn't really be an option either. It'd be about as likely to be found in the forest as a cave.
The only alternative I could think of was to find a close cluster of trees and build my own shelter. A nearly complete circle of close-growing trees would provide protection from almost every direction, and with the campfire built at the opening of the tree cluster, the protection would be complete. Few if any animals would jump through a fire to get at a human being.
It took me a fair amount of time to find a decent tree cluster, but when I did find one, I cried with relief. I also heard my father's voice, chastising me for crying. Men didn't cry. That's what Father always drilled into my head.
Father sometimes sounded sexist but he really wasn't so bad. He couldn't have been if Mum put up with him. She was very independent and strong. I was sure she wouldn't have married and stayed with him if he was all that sexist. He once told me that he only did it to try to toughen me up and make a man out of me. It worked to a degree, though not in a way he liked.
Father's stern upbringing caused me to develop a strongly rebellious nature. I railed against his rules and masculine stereotypes, and I grew to appreciate and even like things more closely associated with women. I really didn't mind when he strongly suggested that I accompany Mum on her trip. I related to her better than I did him. I'd much rather be with Mum.
I nearly cried again when I thought about losing her. I didn't have nearly as much reluctance to show emotion as Father did; as the majority of males in my life did. My behavior didn't exactly make it easy for me to find friends in school but being a rebel, I didn't care so much. I couldn't have much of a social life anyway since my parents' paranoia built a virtual wall around me. In their minds, potential kidnappers lurked behind nearly every corner. That might have been true, though it didn't make for a very enjoyable childhood.
As I grew into an adult, I gained more freedom and independence, but I still had bodyguards watching over me, just as Mum and I would've had when we reached out destination in Nepal. Leaving the family's private airport in our jet with only Mum, myself and the pilot was a rare occurrence. For the drive to the airport and the long flight, we had the rare experience of being truly free outside the confines of our estate. I did appreciate the independence, even if I was bored for most of the trip.
Mum didn't seem to notice the rare lack of bodyguards, even though she'd become a better target for kidnappers than I was. As I grew into a man, I wouldn't be nearly as easy to kidnap. It sounded sexist except that I was taking martial arts classes, whereas Mum was not. She couldn't defend herself. She was too busy reading over old charts and ancient texts to bother with learning self-defense. I guess neither one of us had good balance in our lives. As an adult, I couldn't be bothered to learn anything more than self-defense. I'd be certain to remedy that after I got home.
In the meantime, I meant to enjoy my independence while it lasted. I tried to anyway, at least at first, before all the hard work and potential threats loomed on the horizon. I saw no signs of civilization so I was sure I still had a very long way to go. I'd have to keep working hard just to survive, and that included making a shelter every night that I couldn't find a ready-made one. My journey through the Himalayas was no longer a lark. It was somewhat fun but only from the perspective of being a challenge. I loved a good challenge. I just hope I survived it. And to do that, I needed to focus and get to work. Then, after building my shelter, I could look forward to more work, creating arrows and archery accessories.
The cluster of trees that I'd chosen for my shelter grew against a rocky outcropping. The trees along with the rock provided nearly a perfect site. I broke off several large pine bows an leaned them against the inside wall of trees and rock to block the wind, and after horizontally threading several more long branches through the branches of the growing trees, I had the support structure for a roof. All I had to do was lay down more pine branches over it and I was ready to build my fire in the front.
The fire didn't take long, not with my lighter. As I sat cross-legged near the fire within my protective circle of trees, I shook the precious device to check the level of butane and sighed. It was still mostly full. Luck continued to favor me.
I reached back for my pack and dragged it forward, fishing out everything I'd need to make arrows, an arm guard and a quiver. I started on the quiver first as I needed someplace to store the arrows. It was fairly simple to make out of the pelt and sinew. The arrows required more time and effort but I used up the rest of my allotment of daylight. The arm guard had to wait. I'd make it quickly and easily enough and then test a couple arrows.
The excitement of being so close to finishing my project made it hard to drop off to sleep that night. So did the itching of my chest. Thoughts rolled round and round my head until they stopped back at Mum. I was all cried out by that point so I didn't cry myself to sleep. I gained comfort and the ability to sleep from an unusual source instead.
The sword glowed brightly in the darkness directly behind me. My body shaded the ancient blade from the light of the campfire, making the glow easy to see. After throwing a large load of wood on the fire, I wrapped my large pelt around me and leaned against the nearest tree. Hugging my pack with the sword on top, I whispered to the sword as if my mother could somehow hear me. Not long after, I fell asleep.
I woke up with that large, clumsy feeling and only a little pain in my abdomen; much better than yesterday morning. My hair was also longer. It was easy to tell with a slight breeze blowing it in front of my face. I didn't have time to worry though. I had too much to do, starting with breakfast.
Rummaging through my pack yielded just enough dried meat, pine nuts and wilted dandelion leaves for a complete meal. I had half a breakfast bar available but I wanted to save it for emergencies, or perhaps nibble it whilst hiking when my foraging wasn't productive. I'd definitely hold the remaining unopened breakfast bar in reserve. It had a shelf life of forever as long as it wasn't opened.
I got up to relieve myself and cleaned my hands as best I could, first by rubbing them in sand and then using dew-kissed moss. I wiped my hands on my jeans to dry them and stumbled back to my campsite.
With the fire stoked up and roaring away, I actually felt a little too warm for the first time since I started my adventure. I edged away from the flames to make an arm guard. It didn't take long, and soon I was rushing out to find a good target for my bow.
It took a good long time to decide how to practice using the bow. Dummy arrows would save on arrowheads but they wouldn't fly the same way. It wouldn't be realistic enough. Only my finished arrows would do. That meant a careful selection of a target would be needed.
As I looked at all the nearby trees, I ruled them out. A bone arrowhead seemed likely to break unless it hit perfectly flush on a smooth bit of bark. Soft ground on the side of a hill could work unless the arrow hit a buried rock. That idea didn't appeal to me. I worked too hard on the arrows. I didn't want to lose any of them, except during an actual hunt. It wasn't until I spied a large patch of snow that I knew what to do.
The snow proved more than adequate for a target once it was packed into a nice mound, backed by large amount of leaves and pine needles. With the target finished, I strung my bow and backed away twenty paces before pulling back very lightly on the string with a nocked arrow. Letting go of the string, the arrow flew fairly straight to hit the snow.
I kept backing farther away and pulling back harder on the bowstring until I heard the pine needle fletching whistle as the arrow sailed through the air. The last arrow of my practice session still didn't fly perfectly straight but it hit the snow with a loud chuff sound and I raised a fist in the air to celebrate. It was time to hunt.
Hunting disappointed me as much as it would've disappointed Father. My first target, a medium-sized black bird that looked to be some species of crow, excited me enough to shoot six arrows at it, all of them missing. Only half of the arrows could be recovered and of those, only two could be salvaged. The arrowhead on the third one was broken to a stub, making it unusable. I very briefly entertained the idea of dismantling my Swiss Army knife and using one of the blades as an arrowhead but that idea didn't end any better in my imagination than it would in reality. I'm sure I'd soon lose the arrow.
It didn't help that I couldn't move quietly through the wood. My odd clumsiness continued to plague me. I must have snapped every twig within a five mile radius. I couldn't shoot what I couldn't stalk.
I drank from the roaring stream, refilled my water bottles and walked back towards my camp with my head held low, but I paused after a short distance when I suddenly had that strange feeling of being watched. How odd that everyone can relate to that feeling yet no one can explain it. It's one of the great mysteries of the planet, and the mystery compounded itself when I got back.
There, very near my backpack, was a freshly killed partridge or pheasant. Upon closer inspection, it looked somewhat like a pheasant, though it was much more colorful, beautiful in fact, with a green head, blue, green and purple feathers on its back and orange about its neck and long tail. I almost hated to eat it. Almost. I found one wing to be badly broken and its neck was snapped, most likely to finish it off. Whoever killed it must have been an excellent shot with a rock. That's the only way I could imagine it being killed.
After the informal post-mortem, feathers flew, landing in a sloppy pile well away from the fire, as I plucked the pheasant. I soon had the bird gutted, without head and feet, and cooking on a long skewer that I rested in the fork of another stick near the fire. I anchored the near end of the skewer with a large rock so I could have my hands free to deal with the feathers.
My knife split a good number of feathers in half along their shaft, and after some trimming, I soon had enough to finish the fletching for all of my remaining arrows. I ate contentedly that day, thinking about my soon-to-be improved arrows and silently thanking my benefactor; yet another mystery in a growing list of mysteries.
After I finished my midday meal, I had a look around the campsite for footprints but I didn't find anything. Still, I had a suspect in mind. There was really only one suspect in the area, however unlikely.
I shook my head of such nonsense, though I called out as I did before with the goat. "I'm leaving some meat for you! Thank you again!"
I put out the fire, leaned the skewer with the bird carcass against a tree and quickly packed up everything. I already spent too long at my current campsite. I had a long way to go and I wasn't making very good progress. The arrows could wait until I set up my next camp and settled down for the night.
A nearly complete ring of trees marked the end of my hike that day. I quickly built my shelter and soon thereafter had a fire roaring. In spite of being full of bird meat, I foraged as I went and managed to save a handful of pine nuts for morning. I didn't bother saving any dandelions as they wilted too quickly and I couldn't bring myself to eat the wilted leaves. There weren't a lot about anyway. They didn't seem very common in the dark forest. Too dark I guessed.
I settled in for the evening and finished replacing the fletching on half of my arrows before I ran out of sinew. I tried to reuse the sinew but it didn't work very well. It was too dry and shredded easily. I'd have to make do with a mix of the old and the new.
Very much like I did the night before, I sat and leaned against a tree after wrapping the goat pelt around me. Then I hugged my pack with the sword on top and whispered, "Good night, Mum." I absently brushed a strand of very long hair away from my face just before I fell asleep.
Another morning started with coordination problems, abdominal cramps and unbelievably long hair, along with a few new symptoms of my mystery condition. The first new symptom made its presence known very quickly and abruptly when I went to relieve myself away from the campsite. With my usual show of modesty, I stood behind a tree to hide while I urinated and I had a little trouble accessing my external plumbing. When I finally did pull it out, it looked absolutely tiny in my hand, more like a young lad's than what I was used to seeing.
'What the fook?! Was I getting younger?!'
I managed to stand and pee before spending the next several minutes inspecting the rest of my body. I soon noticed that my waist had narrowed significantly. It became obvious after untucking Mum's cardigan and several layers of shirts that I wore as my jeans slid much lower on my hips. My next discovery concerned my arms. They were much thinner than normal and I immediately tested my strength by stringing my bow and pulling back on the string as far as I could. The bow was still usable but I had to admit that I had a little trouble with it.
I nearly lost it at that moment. The accursed sword that I made peace with the past two nights must have been changing me the whole time. It seemed to be making me younger. Getting younger best fit the facts but one thing stood out to contradict my theory, though I didn't think of it at the time. I was still just as tall as ever. Regressing in age should've made me shorter.
The hate part of my love-hate relationship renewed itself that morning. The sword was on my black list and would remain there forever and a day. I kept thinking that I'd had a run of good luck, at least after Mum vanished, but luck had nothing to do with me. It was all that sword, giving me a false sense of security whilst zapping me the whole time. First it zapped Mum and then me. There was no doubt in my mind, even though it affected me quite differently.
Once again, I was desperate to toss that damnable sword off the nearest cliff but Father's voice reached my imagination from afar once again.
'Don't do it, son. Remember your mother.'
In the end, I couldn't do it. I couldn't rid myself of the one thing that gave me hope of returning Mum from wherever she went. I had to keep the sword.
'Damn.'
I flopped down by my pack and paused, trying not to think. I needed to clear my mind and calm myself. It started working too, until my stomach reminded me that it was being neglected.
During breakfast, I gobbled up the remaining half of my breakfast bar without thinking. After silently cursing for several minutes, I added some pine nuts and washed it down with half a bottle of water. My last breakfast bar found itself stashed in a rarely used, zippered side pocket of my pack, where it would be more likely to remain out of sight and out of mouth.
As I ate, my hair quickly became my number one concern. That's because it tickled my nose and found its way inside my mouth far too many times. After spitting hair for the umpteenth time, I grabbed my pack and dug through it looking for Mum's small toiletry bag. I found the zippered plastic bag and soon pulled out a black hair tie. Then I began something that I never thought I'd do. I began to braid my hair.
I know that I could've used the hair tie to make a simple, low pony tail, and really, I could've just cut my hair with my Swiss Army knife, but I wasn't thinking straight. I had a problem and I solved it by trying the first good idea that popped into my head. The best way to manage exceptionally long hair was to braid it. Even with a pony tail, a strong breeze could still blow the remaining length of hair around into my face. If I had several hair ties, I could've spread them out evenly along my hair. That would've worked well if I wasn't limited to just the one I found.
After hesitating briefly, I accepted the challenge of braiding and stubbornly kept at it, finally succeeding once I remembered to split my hair into three strands and take turns weaving each one in turn. It took some concentration and a little coordination and I got it. After securing the end with the hair tie, I almost raised a fist in the air to celebrate. Only my confused male pride kept me from doing so.
Cutting my hair was still an option, though it would unnecessarily dull my knife that much faster, especially since my hair kept growing and would require repeated cutting. I couldn't afford that so I was happy I hadn't cut it. Besides, braiding my hair mentally relaxed me better than anything else that I'd done up to that point, and when I realized that, confusion rolled in like a dense London fog. I couldn't understand how braiding my hair could ever appeal to me. I liked my hair a little long and kept it that way to rebel against my father but I think my current hair length went far beyond rebellion.
I knew what to do next and it had nothing to do with hair. I broke camp and left as soon as possible. I barely remembered to extinguish the smoldering campfire. I couldn't get away quickly enough.
My gait felt much smoother than it had the previous couple days. My coordination was back and then some. I felt lighter and more agile than ever, until I jumped up onto a small, fallen tree and jumped down again. I abruptly stopped as something felt wrong on my chest. I had a definite jiggle there that I'd never felt before.
My hand trembled as I untucked my shirts and slid it up underneath, and I gasped when my fingertips ran into a soft obstruction. I wanted to believe it was just an unbelievably well-developed pectoral muscle but something deep inside wouldn't let me. That something echoed one word in my mind and I crumpled to the ground, sobbing.
'Breast.'
The rest of that day was a blur as I slowly recovered from shock. My small but perky breasts seemed to grow larger with each passing hour, sending me round the bend with a jiggle whenever I stepped over something. It wasn't until I found myself washing socks and underwear off to one side of the roaring stream that I completely snapped out it. I'd been repeating the same phrase over and over in my mind.
'Laundry is women's work. Laundry is women's work. Laundry is women's work.'
The act of soaking, rinsing and beating my disgustingly filthy socks and briefs with a rock all whilst chanting that sexist mantra really pissed me off.
I wrung out my abused clothing and hastily stuffed it into my pack. I didn't count to make sure I had them all, and I only just resisted the temptation to see if I was going commando.
I marched from the bank of the stream and savagely foraged as I went, yanking pine cones off low, overhanging branches that got in my way. I was in a mood.
Not long before I found a suitable campsite, I almost tripped over another gift. A freshly killed marmot was lying in the middle of the crude animal trail that I followed. I couldn't miss it.
Looking around, I noticed part of a footprint in a patch of mud farther down the trail. Yeti.
"I'm not a helpless female!" I shouted, my voice cracking. I still sounded mostly male but it reminded me of how I sounded when going through puberty, only then it was happening in reverse. I'd likely revert to the husky alto of my youth, and my voice would better match my appearance.
Denial ran strong through my veins. I denied the reality of my situation and briefly stomped past the marmot. I didn't want any help, but my stomach had other ideas. It protested loudly.
My breasts also protested. They jiggled with displeasure at the stomping and I quickly stopped, my hands moving out of reflex to cup them.
"Fine," I said in a quiet voice.
I slowly walked back to the marmot to pick it up by the scruff of its neck before continuing on the trail.
"Thank you," I said, as much to the marmot as to my anonymous benefactor. It was something I'd read about certain indigenous cultures. They liked to thank their kill for giving up its life so that they could live. I had to thank someone or something. It was a British tradition to be polite, even when one didn't feel like it.
Day seven of my ordeal and I felt no closer to civilization. If anything, I felt farther from it. Building a shelter every night, dealing with freshly killed game and foraging to supplement my meals became unpleasant chores, and my unpleasant body odor served as a constant reminder of my primitive conditions. I kept my face and hands clean enough. If only I could take a nice, hot shower.
My hair didn't help my mood, as it kept growing, forcing me to redo my braid every morning. My breasts didn't help either. They continued to swell, throwing off my hand-eye coordination. I couldn't hit an elephant at twenty paces with my bow. I hated to say it but I really wished I had a sturdy sports bra to contain the little monsters.
My one saving grace was that my lower body felt more comfortable than ever, even when I had to squat to pee. I could move slowly and smoothly to keep my breasts mostly still and my legs were limber enough that I could easily sit in a lotus position. It was too bad that my upper body didn't match my lower body.
Against my better judgment, I tried some target practice and on my first shot, I lost another arrow when it skipped off the ground and disappeared into the brush. I spent far too much time searching for arrow and finally gave up when my stomach demanded attention.
Hunting was a disaster. I could move quietly. I got very close to birds and animals, close enough that I should've been able to shoot them with my bow, but I still couldn't get used to my breasts. My arrows almost always veered right. I tried to compensate but to no avail. I lost two more arrows and gave up for the day, returning to my diet of pine nuts and dandelion leaves. I never did like the dandelion but my taste buds were really getting bored with the pine nuts. The breakfast bar tempted me more than ever.
Near the end of my hiking time for the day, a dead marmot once again blocked my path; uncanny, that.
"Thank you," I said, loudly enough to hear myself over the nearby roaring stream. My feminine voice made me wince but I meant what I said. I did need the help and was grateful for it.
On the morning of my tenth day in the wilderness, I thanked the universe that I was still alive and healthy, until rolling over on my bed of leaves and squishing my left breast. The pain caused me to utter a few random curses and quickly stand up. Then, in spite of the cold, I shed all of my upper layers of clothing except Mum's blouse. I unbuttoned the blouse halfway up from the bottom and tied the two bottom front corners into a tight square knot just under my large breasts to create a makeshift bra. I'm not sure what gave me the daft idea. I blame American television. That and desperation. I was desperate for a bra.
After I added the rest of the layers of clothing, I found that I had a little better support than before. That satisfied me for the moment and I was able to get on with my day.
Oddly enough, my upper body coordination had improved to an exceptional degree, even with my large breasts. On impulse, I leaned forward into a handstand and used my momentum to complete a walkover. As a follow up, I bent backwards until my hands reached the ground and flipped over to my feet once again. I amazed myself with my flexibility and my strength. I'd lost significant muscle mass and strength in my upper body but not enough to slow me down. With less muscle, I also had less weight to lift. I felt really, really good. I was still strong enough to wield my bow and agile enough to perform gymnastic feats that I could never do before.
I reluctantly credited my improved agility to the accursed sword that still managed to stay attached to my pack. I hadn't lost my temper badly enough to rid myself of it and it wasn't likely that I'd do so by that point. It was too late. The changes to my body seemed complete.
'Okay. I admit it. I'm a woman. Satisfied?'
I often spoke to the sword, sometimes aloud when I thought of Mum, but mostly in my mind. I liked to think of the sword as a living thing, and I addressed it directly in my mind when I felt talkative. It wasn't much of a conversationalist but I had to talk to something or I'd go mad.
I preferred not to speak aloud since my voice reminded me too much of Mum. For that matter, my flexibility and athletic ability also reminded me of her and for a brief moment, I wondered about other similarities. I hoped I didn't look too much like her. I was sure it would upset Father as much as myself. I know I could've checked my reflection in a pool of water but I didn't. I couldn't handle seeing Mum's face staring back at me, not on top of everything else that was happening.
At least the possibility of being a clone or twin seemed remote. My breasts were surely larger than Mum's. My hair was much longer too, though that could easily be changed with a trip to a salon. Still, I hadn't lost any height so there was a height difference as well. Taller with a much bigger chest meant I'd likely have men chasing after me though, bodyguards or not. That thought threatened to sour my mood.
As long as I already found myself standing, I closed my eyes and took some deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth. The breathing exercises relaxed me and helped start the day. It didn't exactly improve my mood. It just evened me out, like a reset button. My mind flushed itself of all the negativity and I stood ready to focus on something good for a change. Thankfully, it didn't take long.
A slight breeze stirred my hair and caught my attention. I measured the length of a few strands against one arm and it didn't seem any longer. Visions of Rapunzel, tripping over her hair had plagued me for the past several days so it was with great relief that I sat back down by my pack and began braiding.
I'd taken to wearing my hair loose whilst sleeping. It felt better free and I'd gotten used to braiding it every morning anyway since I had to redo the braid as my hair grew. What amazed me though was that I started to enjoy braiding it, and I got good enough that I didn't have to work hard at it. My mind happily wandered as my fingers twisted my three strands of hair, and after getting near enough to the end, I plucked the hair tie from my left wrist. I finished off the braid just as my stomach reminded me of its presence.
There wasn't much food left that morning. I'd received yet another marmot as an anonymous gift the night before and stripped it bare. There was no meat left and dandelions remained in scarce supply so that only left me with a handful of pine nuts. No reference on edible plants would go untouched when I got back to civilization.
I finished my modest meal, guzzled half a bottle of water and immediately set off to hunt. With my exceptional stalking ability and excellent upper body coordination, I felt confident of success.
My senses came alive as my body moved with a fluid grace, each step a masterpiece of evolution. Boot on rock. Duck under pine bough. Turn to avoid brushing against the trunk. Move. Breathe. Stalk.
'Here little marmot. Here boy.'
I'd seen what I thought were marmot droppings all along the trail that I followed. I knew they were about. I'd eaten enough to be sure of that. But could I kill one myself? My stomach said yes. My heart said maybe.
I suddenly lost confidence in my killer instinct. My traitorous imagination flashed images of cute baby marmots, causing me to chew my lower lip with worry, until a sudden rustle of brush caught my ear and eye.
My feet held firm, freezing me to the spot. Nostrils flared and all focus centered within a tight circle around that brush.
Within the span of a dozen heartbeats, a marmot and a pattern of movement emerged. Two or three steps. Stop to nibble a blade of grass. Back to stepping.
Left hand gripping my bow, my right hand found a nocked arrow. I slowly, silently pulled back and aimed, ready to time my shot between heartbeats and stepping. The arrow flew. And missed. It was too high. In my excitement, I underestimated my strength and pulled the bow back as far as I could. The marmot disappeared back into the brush along with the arrow and I silently cursed.
'Live and learn but do it quickly. I'm hungry!'
I reached back to my quiver and found another arrow. All of my arrows had feathered fletching by this point, with marmot sinew to bind the feathers to the shaft. I had sixteen left. No more misses. Not today.
Back to stalking the trail of marmots, my feet once again worked their silent magic and soon led me to a colony under and around a large fallen tree. The mostly rotted tree nestled on the side of a small, rocky hillock with dozens of visible holes. Only a few trees and a couple of short bushes grew in the immediate area, leaving it well-lit.
My inner hunter… huntress spied three adult marmots lounging in the area, all of them nibbling grass. After a quick check to make sure I was still down wind, I pulled back on another nocked arrow and ever so slowly and silently moved diagonally forward to my right, using a small bush as cover. I got within reasonable range of the closest marmot and my arrow flew.
The arrow found its target already in motion, startled by the sound of the snapping bowstring. The marmot didn't move fast enough though. It found itself hit with my arrow through one shoulder and just barely out of its stomach on the other side. The dying creature still tried to get away, slowly crawling over the ground. I wanted to cry at the pathetic sight but my hunger wouldn't let me. Not yet.
I rushed forward, pulling out my knife as I went. I caught my prey well before it got back to its burrow, grabbed it by the scruff of its neck and sliced open the front of its neck. It stopped moving as soon as I grabbed it and within a few seconds, stopped breathing as well.
Something within me felt a primal need to yell. Another part of me felt sick, and tears rolled down my cheek before I knew it. I let go of the marmot to clean my knife well enough for the moment, and then, with my vision blurred by tears, I found the scruff of its neck again and carried it back towards my camp, apologizing to it and all of its relatives as I went.
I killed four more marmots over the next three days and didn't sleep very well. Dead and dying marmots filled my dreams. I often woke up crying but I always managed to focus on the sound of my noisy companion, the roaring stream, and was able to drop off again quickly enough. I got enough sleep to get by, and my full stomach assuaged any lingering guilt. I had to kill to survive. It was the same throughout most of the world, people just didn't always see it. They didn't all do the hunting and killing. They let others do it and took advantage of it. I got over it, but I didn't like it, and I wouldn't let myself ever forget.
Thanks to my renewed interest in hunting, I lost three more arrows during that span of time, leaving me with thirteen. It also happened to be my thirteenth day in the wilderness. Superstition usually didn't bother me but I still felt something ominous in the air that morning. Something bad was coming. I could feel it in my bones.
I shook off the bad vibes and concentrated on survival. After braiding my hair, doing my morning breathing exercises and eating breakfast, I'd take whatever happened when it happened. I'd become a competent huntress and I doubted whether I'd run out of arrows before I found my way to a city. I smelled hints of woodsmoke in the air so I knew I was close to the end of my journey. I just had to get through another couple days or so.
Being able to supply myself with meat began to feel satisfying, especially when I realized that my anonymous benefactor hadn't left me any gifts. They didn't have to because I didn't need it.
That made me wonder whether my benefactor still followed after me. If it was a yeti like I believed, I couldn't see it following me all the way back to a city. I thought it might have hung back by that point, perhaps staying just long enough to make sure I made it. That thought gave me a nice, warm feeling and brought a smile to my face, just before it all went to shit.
I heard a short burst of gunfire; a semi-automatic rifle by the sound of it. I quickly slipped on my quiver of arrows, grabbed my bow and took off running in the direction of the sound, with the accursed sword at my left hip. I didn't like to think about the sword but I did make sure I kept it with me at all times.
I ran hard, though I wasn't sure why. Who in their right mind would run towards gunfire? I didn't know. I just felt it was something that I had to do. My ragged breath created a string of small, ephemeral clouds in the cold morning air. I continued running through the forest, on towards my destiny.
Running came easy to me but I eased off to pace myself. I wanted to make sure I wasn't completely out of breath when I met up with whomever fired the rifle.
Two more bursts of gunfire sounded before I emerged into a large, open field. At the far end of the field stood a man, dressed all in black with a cowboy hat and leather duster. The sun emerged from a thick layer of high cloud at that same moment, brightening everything and burning the image into my memory forever more.
Sunlight briefly glinted off the rifle barrel as the man aimed the rifle into the trees. Another burst of gunfire and a medium-sized black bird dropped to the ground, followed by the man's harsh laughter. It would be an insult to hunters everywhere to liken him to one. The man was a cold killer, killing for sport but only with the odds heavily in his favor. He really pissed me off.
I slowed down to a fast march, crossing over half the field before he even noticed me. I startled him at first. Then his ego kicked in and he actually had the nerve to point his rifle at me, watching me through the gun's scope. I didn't flinch.
As I got within loud talking distance, I noticed he was Caucasian, and when I heard him speak, his accent easily identified him as American. I guessed he was a Texan.
"What do you think you're doing?!" I shouted at him.
He slowly looked up from his rifle scope and regarded me with a bone-chilling leer. It might have frightened me if I wasn't already so angry. "Well, well. What have we here?" he drawled.
"I asked you first," I said, just before I got within slapping range. My arm did lash out then, and my open hand caught him by surprise as it loudly struck his cheek. I soon wished I'd thought to do something more damaging.
"What the hell?!" he shouted.
He returned the favor by surprising me, roughly pushing me backwards. I fell to the ground, bruising my backside. My look of pain soon turned into a glare though as I looked up at him.
"You wait your turn, little lady. I'm busy." He turned his attention back to the edge of the forest, ready for another round of shooting when we both gasped.
A yeti stood less than a hundred yards away, and it looked upset.
"Holy shit!" the man said. "I heard tell of them things but I never thought I'd have one in my sights." He quickly turned his gun in the direction of the yeti and I almost panicked.
The yeti looked past the man at me and I quickly made a downward motion with my open hand, trying to tell the yeti to get down. There was no cover close enough to escape being shot. All it could do was present as small a target as possible.
Luckily for the yeti, the man hesitated, amazed by the close up view and even more amazed when the yeti understood my plea and bent down to lie face first on the ground.
"What the hell?!" the man said in a quiet voice. "That's gotta be the darnedest thing I ever did see." He suddenly got louder though as he addressed the yeti. "It won't save ya, big fella! But nice try!"
As soon as the yeti laid down, I kept myself busy. Thoughts flew a million miles an hour until I settled on the only plan of action that made sense. I slipped my bow off and quickly nocked an arrow. Then I grabbed a nice sized rock and threw it hard, hitting the man in the head and knocking his hat off. It had the desired effect of taking his attention off of the yeti.
"Shit!" he yelled as he quickly turned to face me with fire in his eyes. "You still have to wait. But don't worry. It won't be long. Oh, the fun I'm gonna have with you and those big tits of yours. Shame you're gonna end up like the yeti though. I can't have any witnesses. Sorry." He smiled, showing teeth stained with chewing tobacco, a noticeable wad of the disgusting stuff still tucked in his right cheek.
I responded by quickly pulling back on the bowstring, my arrow aimed at his crotch.
The man laughed. "Don't that beat all? The little girl thinks she can hurt me with her toy bow and arrow. That's so cute." His look of mirth quickly turned ugly as he added, "You're not gonna penetrate several layers of hardened leather with that toy of yours so why don't you just drop it before I blow your head off? I'd gladly fuck your headless corpse but it would be more fun for both of us if you stayed alive for it."
The man sickened me but I refused to show it. Instead, I answered him with a grim smile before replying, "Thanks for the intel." I quickly aimed the arrow at his exposed throat. The bowstring hummed and the arrow hit its target.
The arrogant arse realized his mistake too late. His eyes widened as the arrow struck. He dropped like a bag of wet cement, gasping and gurgling blood from both his mouth and throat as he stared straight up into the mostly cloudy sky. The earlier gap in the clouds closed at that moment, casting a pall of gloom over the field.
I slowly got up and regarded him with a cold, calculating look. I estimated that he had five minutes of life left, maybe ten. He'd certainly suffer most of that time and I didn't like that any more than I liked to see my marmot prey suffer. I thought about ending his suffering but I wasn't sure how, at least not until I looked him over.
When the man fell, his duster opened enough that I saw a pistol holstered on his right hip. I reached down, unsnapped the holster and pulled the gun. I didn't know much about pistols but it looked powerful enough to put a man out of his misery. I found the safety quickly enough, released it and pointed it to the middle of the man's forehead as I gave him some last words. "Sorry, but you had this coming. It's called karma. And it's a bitch." I gently squeezed the trigger and fired the gun. The strong recoil surprised me but the gun did its job. The man laid there, lifeless on the ground before me.
The thirteenth day of my ordeal was the worst and one of thirteen arrows saved me, becoming unlucky for the man instead of me. The bad luck canceled each other out, at least for me it did. I should've been giddy with joy. Instead, I slumped to the ground, sobbing. I'd never killed anything before the plane crash, and after the past few days, I'd done nothing but kill, starting with several small animals and ending with a human being. He might have been scum but he was human and I ended his life. As with the animals, it was him or me. I had to do it, but that didn't make it any easier.
I saw at least a little therapy in my future as I sniffled and cried away the minutes whilst lying on the cold, hard ground, and I continued to feel sorry for myself until I felt something gently touch my back. It was the yeti. I'd completely forgotten about it during my emotional crisis.
The yeti held out its… hand. Yes, it was a hand, one with an opposable thumb that could definitely make and use tools. I took its hand in my own and it carefully helped me up. We stood, silently facing each other for an awkward moment, and as we looked deeply into each other's eyes, I could see an intelligence there, along with concern.
"Thanks again," I muttered, and I surprised both of us by firmly hugging the yeti.
I'm sure neither one of us smelled good to the other. I handled it by breathing solely through my mouth. The yeti was on her own. Yes, it was a she. I could tell from the breasts that I felt hidden under all her hair. I briefly wondered how she could nurse when she pulled away from me. It was time to say farewell.
I gave her a little finger wave and she responded with a quiet grunt. Then she turned and walked away. I watched her until she disappeared back into the forest in the direction that I'd come from. She was on her way back home.
I never saw her again, though I often wondered about her. I wondered about her motherly behavior towards me and I really wondered what, if anything, she knew about the magic sword. I wondered about the sword too, but that could wait. I had a few loose ends to tie up and I still had a short journey ahead of me.
After collecting my arrow along with the man's rifle and pistol, I organized everything and made my way back to my camp, though I almost didn't go back. I had all the clothes I needed, and I had my knife, sword, bow and arrows. I even had my lighter, safely tucked away in a pocket that snapped closed. It would've been easy to continue on from that point, but I had things that I wanted in my pack, even if I didn't need them, things like some of Mum's possessions that I wanted as keepsakes.
I strapped the man's holster and pistol around my right thigh. I liked the way it looked and felt, though I'd make sure to get a second pistol for my other thigh. I wanted to be perfectly balanced and I wanted two guns so I could live my dream of having one in each hand to ensure a quick kill. Yes, I planned on further adventures. It was in my blood now.
As for the rifle and ammunition, I buried the rifle near my camp and buried all of the ammunition elsewhere. I didn't want or need it. It would only bring me trouble once I entered the city, or I should say, more trouble.
To be truthful, I asked for trouble that day, even if I didn't deserve it. It was always that way for me, if on a smaller scale. During that time in the Himalayas, I had a new life forged in the heat of battle, and I craved more. It wasn't just to find a way to bring back my mother.
I made it to my camp, carefully packed and headed back towards the field and beyond. I might just stop to give the deceased man a quick, rocky burial too. It depended on how quickly I could get over the intense experience and forgive, something that was becoming easier with each passing hour. I'm sure the sword changing my gender has something to do with my more mature attitude. If I believed in reincarnation, I might even think my current incarnation was a life lesson for me to learn forgiveness.
The outskirts of Kathmandu didn't impress me. They didn't have to though. I just needed a way to phone Father. I wended my way through the rough streets until I came across a respectable looking bar, one with an intact roof and a working door. Going inside, I nearly choked on the thick smoke and dark, depressing atmosphere.
A couple locals gave me a wary look as I stepped up to the bar, asking to use a phone. I'd hidden the handgun in my pack and I'd also long since buried my quiver and arrows but my bow and rough appearance were enough to make me look dangerous.
A short man with messy black hair stood behind the bar. He first looked at my bow and then pointed me in the right direction with his expressive dark brown eyes. I slipped down a short hallway where an ancient looking phone hung on the wall.
After an operator connected me to England, I managed to get my father on the line. His worried voice sounded so good in my ear but I momentarily froze.
'What am I going to say to him? How can I even convince him who I am?'
"Hello?" he repeated for the third time. "Who is this? Lorne? Is that you?"
"Hello…." I managed to say before he quickly interrupted me.
"Amelia?! Is that really you?!"
'Shit!' I forgot about my new voice.
"No, Father. It's me, Lorne. Though I think I'd like to go by Lara now if that's okay."
After several seconds of spluttering, my father finally managed to utter a few coherent words. "Is this some sort of prank?!"
"No. I wish it was but no." I rushed out a quick synopsis of my story, starting with how Mum vanished and then my gender change by the same magic sword. He quietly listened, waiting until I ran out of words, and after a short pause, he finally acknowledged me.
"I'm very sorry, son. Magic can be a bitch sometimes." He laughed but his joke fell flat. It was often like that for him. He had a very strange sense of humor.
I let him laugh himself out before speaking. "Would it be convenient for you to come and pick me up?"
"What?! Of course! But where exactly are you?"
"I'm in a bar, somewhere in Kathmandu. I'll find my way over to the airport here. I should make it before you arrive. I've made it this far. I can make it the rest of the way." Somewhere during the last part of my journey, I finally remembered my original destination. The signposts helped remind me as a couple were in English.
"Right then, Lorne…."
I interrupted. "Lara."
"Sorry. I mean Lara. I'll get everything sorted and see you soon."
He hung up and I took a moment to think. The phone conversation went fairly well. He believed who I was at least, and I expected him to start the paperwork on changing my identity. Being a Lord, he had enough influence that he could get it done. I could tell that Mum's disappearance rattled him but he'd pull through. So I hoped.
After a pleasant mental conversation with myself, I looked around for the ladies room. I figured it out easily enough with the pictogram signage, and once inside previously forbidden territory, I looked round and pulled a face. It smelled and looked just as bad as the mens toilet. The small room had a single platform for squatting and a bucket for rinse water. There were no toilet rolls though I supposed it could've been worse.
I unloaded my pack and larger weapons before using the facilities and cleaning myself as best I could. Then came the moment of truth. It was time to have a good look in the mirror; except there was no mirror. I had to go next door to a common cleaning room to wash my hands and find the mirror, which I did after picking up all of my things.
A small square mirror hung over the sink and I slowly approached, my hands trembling. It wasn't every day you looked at yourself for the first time. I carefully set everything down again and stood up to face myself. There, in the mirror, I saw a pleasant looking woman staring back. She bore a strong family resemblance to Mum but wasn't an exact copy as I feared. She only looked as close to Mum as I previously did to Father when I was a young man. My hair and eye color matched Mum's and I had the same general shape to my face. My nose looked very much the same as well but there were enough subtle differences to make me breathe a sigh of relief. Still, I couldn't help think that the sword had given me back my Mum in a way. Seeing myself in a mirror would likely always remind me of her.
I exited the bar and stood a moment, deep in thought whilst waiting for a low-flying jet to signal the location of the airport. Knowing Father, he'd soon be back, looking for the cave where Mum disappeared. He'd likely take the accursed sword with him and might even be silly enough to read the inscription, assuming he could. I wondered whether I'd eventually have both parents go missing but there was little I could do to stop him. All I could do is warn him and tell him that I loved him. I'd continue on with my new life of adventure and I'd rescue both parents if I could. I'd certainly try. I'd leave no stone unturned, no cave unexplored. No tomb would be safe as I traveled the world, searching for clues and collecting artifacts to help me along the way.
I suddenly thought of a nickname for myself at that moment, one that would define myself for the rest of my life. From that moment on, I'd be forever known as the Tomb Raider.
Comments
neat!
a pretty cool origin story
Very Nice!
Good job. I never played the games although I did see the movies. :)
Hugs
Grover
IMHO, the games were much
IMHO, the games were much better than the movies. But then, I may be biased as it was one of the first video games where it was "acceptable" for apparent males to play a kick-ass female character.
Me Like!
Nice one!
very well done!
you brought her through her defining baptism of fire an set the direction for her life.
great story, thanks
Excellent!
Really good story, exceptional writing and use of just the right word. Overall a cut or two above the usual.
Then when you had to tie it into the Lara Croft legend, it all became trite. Another ending would have bee much preferable Really too bad as it was truly an excellent story to that point!
Liz
Pixelly yours!
....long brown braided ponytail and small if powerful hands wielding swords or firing two guns at once? I have to say I have always had a place in my heart for her, and now to know her origin makes me feel even better. Maybe there's an artifact with my name on it? Superb!!!! Thank you!
Love, Andrea Lena
This one almost slipped my
This one almost slipped my Radar, I've been a baaaaad girl..
"You're all going to die down there.." - Red Queen (Resident Evil)
Click Me!
Become a Patron!
Have a mew of a day!
Wondering
I was wondering if you'd noticed. I did say I was going to post a story.
I'm still wondering though. Did you like the story? I hope you did!
I put a lot of research into it. I tried to explain a lot of how Lara came to be like she did. She doesn't come close to the stereotypical spoiled rich girl/woman and I wanted a plausible (and interesting) reason for it. I hope I succeeded.
Thanks for the comment.
- Terry