06-10-2015, 07:26 PM
Declan Gregory,
PPC
Days of travel was ahead of them. Once they left New Delhi behind, the cities of northern India progressively grew less dense, and his sense of tension was progressively relieved. Although winter, the landscape was expansive. From trains to bus and finally by car, they traveled. The sky grew ever wider, the horizon ever more mountainous. Soon they were traversing the faces of the Himalayas, and Declan finally felt free enough of human congestion to relax despite the fact they were visiting the place of such foreboding moniker as Skeleton Lake.
The final stretch of their journey required going by foot. Horses were too unstable along the rocky terrain covered by snow. Were it summer, the grasslands would be sufficient for horseback, but a foot of snow was too dangerous for the horses. Declan and Soren were prepared for the hike, however. This final night, they were staying in the closest village to Roopkund lake, a group of about sixty people spread across twelve gurts.
Declan ducked into the round, domed structure that would be the last of the comforts for the next few days. It was a large structure, more permanent than a tent, but with the similar feel of textile walls, wooden struts over head, and a smoke hole in the center. He deposited his shoes near the tunnel-entrance, and crossed a mish-mash of rugs to deposit himself on a square of pillows. Their guide for the journey was Daruka, a middle-aged man with a heavy black beard and studious gaze.
"It was his cousin that was the last guide,"
Declan whispered to Soren once they were out of earshot. It took a hefty amount of money to bribe another guide to take them back to Roopkund lake. While a man's fear could be purchased for the right price, they were not ignorant of the sneers and mutterings when they passed others of the village. This was Daruka's gurt, and thus they would share it with his family for the night. His wife was pleasant enough, Declan thought as she brought them each a bowl of food, stewed with some mixture of pork meat that Declan did not care to inquire the cut. Despite the grim atmosphere, he was not worried for the following day's trek. In fact, his inner sense of curiosity overtook the shock and grief of before.
He slept poorly. In his clothes with a coat draped over him for a blanket, the noise of a dozen people snoring in the same gurt made for restless sleep. His dreams were riddled with strangers wafting in and out like faces peering through the mist hovering above a frozen river. Ghosts, he assumed, despite how the topic was silly to dream. The logic of morning dismissed the ebb of fear warning him against visiting the lake of nightmares. He packed, ate, counted supplies and met Daruka after sunrise to begin the long walk to their next camping site. The following morning they would finally walk into the shadow of the mountain cradling Skeleton Lake, and the bodies of its victims that waited for discovery.
***
The change in elevation made for a quiet hike between the village and the camp site, but finally, as they were setting up the tent that the three men would share for the night, Declan finally cornered Soren while Daruka was busy tending to the dogs and sled. "Did you have any strange dreams last night?"
Not that he believed in such nonsense of warnings by dream, but the stillness of their surrounding had left him wary, rather than relaxed, now that they were hours from a place of legendary doom.
PPC
Days of travel was ahead of them. Once they left New Delhi behind, the cities of northern India progressively grew less dense, and his sense of tension was progressively relieved. Although winter, the landscape was expansive. From trains to bus and finally by car, they traveled. The sky grew ever wider, the horizon ever more mountainous. Soon they were traversing the faces of the Himalayas, and Declan finally felt free enough of human congestion to relax despite the fact they were visiting the place of such foreboding moniker as Skeleton Lake.
The final stretch of their journey required going by foot. Horses were too unstable along the rocky terrain covered by snow. Were it summer, the grasslands would be sufficient for horseback, but a foot of snow was too dangerous for the horses. Declan and Soren were prepared for the hike, however. This final night, they were staying in the closest village to Roopkund lake, a group of about sixty people spread across twelve gurts.
Declan ducked into the round, domed structure that would be the last of the comforts for the next few days. It was a large structure, more permanent than a tent, but with the similar feel of textile walls, wooden struts over head, and a smoke hole in the center. He deposited his shoes near the tunnel-entrance, and crossed a mish-mash of rugs to deposit himself on a square of pillows. Their guide for the journey was Daruka, a middle-aged man with a heavy black beard and studious gaze.
"It was his cousin that was the last guide,"
Declan whispered to Soren once they were out of earshot. It took a hefty amount of money to bribe another guide to take them back to Roopkund lake. While a man's fear could be purchased for the right price, they were not ignorant of the sneers and mutterings when they passed others of the village. This was Daruka's gurt, and thus they would share it with his family for the night. His wife was pleasant enough, Declan thought as she brought them each a bowl of food, stewed with some mixture of pork meat that Declan did not care to inquire the cut. Despite the grim atmosphere, he was not worried for the following day's trek. In fact, his inner sense of curiosity overtook the shock and grief of before.
He slept poorly. In his clothes with a coat draped over him for a blanket, the noise of a dozen people snoring in the same gurt made for restless sleep. His dreams were riddled with strangers wafting in and out like faces peering through the mist hovering above a frozen river. Ghosts, he assumed, despite how the topic was silly to dream. The logic of morning dismissed the ebb of fear warning him against visiting the lake of nightmares. He packed, ate, counted supplies and met Daruka after sunrise to begin the long walk to their next camping site. The following morning they would finally walk into the shadow of the mountain cradling Skeleton Lake, and the bodies of its victims that waited for discovery.
***
The change in elevation made for a quiet hike between the village and the camp site, but finally, as they were setting up the tent that the three men would share for the night, Declan finally cornered Soren while Daruka was busy tending to the dogs and sled. "Did you have any strange dreams last night?"
Not that he believed in such nonsense of warnings by dream, but the stillness of their surrounding had left him wary, rather than relaxed, now that they were hours from a place of legendary doom.