Per 
11/4/1876
The pages in this book are tattered but the worthless quality has a value in and of itself. Afterall, in the coming days I may lose all my belongings including my own person. An invitation arrived with a strange seal. It was a queer sight seeing my real name after so many years. As I hurriedly teared through the flimsy parchment my mind was flying into a tizzy. How had the sender known my location, let alone my name? Once I’d opened it I found few answers.
It was from an old acquaintance who’d employed my services in years past. He was setting up an expedition of sorts. The object of this expedition? The complete research of the various nooks and crannies of the Appalachian range. A tiresome and fruitless endeavor it seemed to me, but I have debts in Baltimore that need to be paid if I want to live with my true name. I am not a man of wildlife, but I have traveled in every profession I have taken. However, I believe he has invited me along for some of my less than savory talents rather than my nomadic tendencies. I suppose in the wild you can never have too much nastiness. After all we will no doubt stumble across numerous Cree and Cherokee.
We leave in about a week’s time, so I’ll have to work with what I have in this city and ‘borrow’ the rest off the frailer sorts in our ranks. There aren’t going to be many of us, just a few scientists, my benefactor as our lead, some hired help, and a priest. Apparently, the expedition has been bankrolled almost in its entirety by some odd church from the “old country”. I suspect his meaning was that this fellow may be Russian. I’ve never known Russians to make pilgrimages inside America, but it was only a matter of time. If you ask me, they’re trying to establish some footholds in the mountains and reap the pockets of weary travelers just looking to get through unharmed. Warm church bells to offset the howling winds will surely seem as if god’s good graces were saved specially for those destined to hear them. I may be too jaded but if Crimea taught me anything, holy virtue sometimes calls for grizzly abandon. They may be altruistic, but there is no real economy in benevolent actions. I only say this because this expedition no doubt cost a small fortune. I don’t see what else it could be, the church certainly has no interest in ecological science. I wish my actions hadn’t left me so desperate, but regret does nothing for me.
I’m going to pack myself up from this shoddy town and depart for Kentucky. Logically, starting low in the range (as the bitter winds of November will soon be here) seems sound at first, it’s what follows that worries me. Their intention to travel upwards during the worst months will have this quest caught in the winter’s indifferent fury. My acquaintance’s letter explained to me that the church’s donation was tenuous, so they’re forced to take the funding before the beginning of winter. Maybe the priest wanted a taste of the “old country” in the new world. I’ll keep a log of our travels to stave off the boredom that will sure to come in the cold dark nights to come. These fools will come back with half their wits and even fewer toes.
11/24/1876
Our expedition has been underway for a brief while, and this journey is already horrid. We began by exploring the range portioned by the state lines of Kentucky, soon to followed by Tennessee. I questioned the competence of the trail set by our lead, but he informed me that I wasn’t being paid to navigate. For the most part, things have been mundane bordering on asinine. Every day we travel through the ridges, and valleys of the range finding nothing new that wasn’t already believed to be there. The only shocking discovery is how this trail can ruin two boots in five days.
Although We did come across something quite peculiar a few days ago. A small cave dripping with what looked like oil. As one of the scientist made his way into the cave to explore, the native yanked him back by the collar. He motioned at me to look deeper into the cave and as my eyes adjusted black shapes began to fill the rocky chamber. It was a sizeable sleuth of black bears in hibernation. We started to sneak the surveyor out when I realized they weren’t breathing. The black bodies were frozen, their hair broke like splinters when I touched them. I didn’t know bears could freeze to death. Bears are made for the cold, aren’t they? There were so many the body heat should have been astounding and yet there they lay with not so much as a fading warmth. The surveyors marveled over the mounds of fur and meat, letting out the occasional ‘fascinating’ as they madly scribbled away. I was unsure if they realized the beasts had passed. If they had, it would have made no difference, science has always been a rather unfeeling subject.
These surveyors packed plenty of pencils, paper, research equipment and books, but seemingly very little real provisions. More than once I had to share my canteen to stop one of them from wilting over during our travels. Unprepared for the harsh nature they study, I fear we will lose many of them. I hope my pay isn’t affected by the foolishness of a few academics. I keep an eye on them as best I can, but the terrain makes it difficult to split my focus. Most of the recordings they take are simple diagrams and sketches of the various wildlife we meet. The sounds of scrawling hands at night is maddening. The hired help and I were brought on to protect these men, but we’ve started moving our camps at night well away from their pencil scratching. If we hadn’t, I would have run through my port just trying to sleep peacefully.
The younger men comprising the help are two Irish, a Scott boy and some native from the Cree or Cherokee, I can’t quite remember now. We spend most days carrying equipment and guiding the more easily taken members as we traversed nature’s devious chambers. We hunt when we can, getting the odd squirrel or rabbit. We’ll need more than that thought to further bolster our rations if we hope to survive the coming weeks. Hopefully the native can help in that regard.
The native is the only one hear that has any sense. After getting him a bit drunk one night we began to divulge the stories we’d constructed in our lives. In doing so I found we had many things in common. We had both been soldiers at one time or another, both of us had a predilection for spirits and both us believed this expedition to be a fool’s errand. After a few more glasses he revealed to me his plans (after revealing quite a few entertaining dances). They entail hoofing it with whatever he can scavenge off our party when we inevitably perished in the cold. I laughed at that and told him it wasn’t a half bad idea. We finished the bottle and sang songs in languages that were not our own
His name is Uyol Ama, he says it means something like bad water or from the bad water, and he wouldn’t elaborate any further. After that night we seemed to have struck up a beneficial kinship. We’ve scouted forward and hunted together. Our shared observations of our current situation allowed us to steer clear of any predation. Quite an interesting fellow, although he strains to express even the smallest idea as his English isn’t as poised as he’d like it. Now upon the trail, my limited conversations with him make up the entirety of my social life. We disagree on many things, as white man and savage this isn’t unexpected. However, in our brief conversations we both agreed that the priest was one to be watched.
I find it hard to compare the priest to any man I’ve met in my journeys. For to say any man is like the priest would be a grave misstatement. The man stands at half our height and possibly three times as old. His face seems to mesh into his body disregarding the existence of his neck. His eyes and hair are the same sickly pale yellow. There are patches on his scalp that are completely barren. The hairs he is able to keep are dry enough for you to hear an audible crackle like straw when the air blows through them. The eyes of his are either blind or unimportant as his hair covers them. It canopies over them shielding his view and ours, I hope it stays that way.
I must admonish myself here as I gave into the boredom of this trip and made idle chatter with his ramblings, and it only confirmed prior beliefs. He didn’t shake hands or bother with introductions. When I approached him, all he did was bear his teeth and wince at me. I think it was meant to be a smile.
He spent a majority of his blabbering in zealous appreciation of his lord and claims that this expedition will bring him closer to him than many even dreams. With his shriveled nearly paretic body, he boasted that he may even become an equal to his lord. After this he went to a fit of giggling that sound like a dog choking on a splintered bone. His little chitters of giggling and Russian mumblings keep me on edge at night; they seem louder than before. He doesn’t camp with the rest of us, he normally just finds a tree or rock and sleeps beneath it. When everything falls silent, I prefer the writhing pencils over that thing’s babbling. Even the insects fall silent now, I haven’t heard a thing at night except the priests mumbling since Monday.
The scientists ignore him well enough; I suspect the funding of the trip keeps them placated. They’ve certainly made accommodations for him. They even let him preach sermons the last two Sundays. I just keep separate myself when that nonsense occurs, surviving this trail and scouting wilderness takes all my time. The ensured survival of just myself and Uyol has become taxing as our trek continues into Tennessee. The weather has taken turns that may lengthen our time there. If it does, the priest may meet his lord sooner that he thinks.
12/13/1876
Uyol and I have come to an arrangement. We both believe this trek is becoming increasingly fool hardy and something must be done. The winds worsen and our lead can’t seem to take his focus off the mountains to see the clouds. When things begin to deteriorate, we shall take what we can in the night and travel together down into Alabama and through to Mexico. A man of his talents in tandem with mine will make us quite successful in those wild wastes. I think he wants to be a vaquero of some sort; Said he saw a picture of them in a paper once. I’m sure I can convince him that bounty hunting is far more fruitful, but as of now we shall be vaqueros.
The other help is beginning to suffer from the provision stealing surveyors who insist we have no time to restock. Both Uyol and I started refusing them, but the others are younger, and easier to manipulate through perceived authority. Water and food are beginning to dwindle, Uyol has been hunting in his spare time but the areas we’ve been going through lately have been astoundingly sparse. The only thing we have continued to find are more dead hibernating animals and cacophonous swarms of ravens.
One night the Scott, (I believe his name is Samuel), got a tad bit frustrated at supper time when he found his rations were reduced to a moldy roll. As he ranted to us over the fire, the priest slinked out of his shadow. We were all startled by his sudden appearance. The Scott spun around on him, a mix of fear, confusion, and anger in his posturing. Before I needed to step in, the priest offered something to him that he claimed was ‘good meat’ but the memory of that putrid slab makes my stomach turn. It was black and wet, like it was freshly rotted with a stench to match. Without another word, the priest flung the meat upon a nearby skillet where it released a dark thick smoke. Uyol and I shot to our feet to extinguish it before someone found us out here, but the smoke dispersed just as quickly as it had appeared. The boys gathered round the skillet and watched the meat cook salivating over it in anticipation. I chose to eat some cheese I had and few pieces of bread. As we ate, the priest told tales of his faith and the help were enthralled. Nodding and wide eyed like children, they feasted on his food and drank his every word.
I only listened to pieces of the stories as I was busy deliberating with Uyol about what exactly was happening. It was some story about one his lord’s champions, a hero to be shared for posterity. I’ve never been a follower of the church, but I know that there is no Christian myth like the ones the priest was telling. The story was interspersed with some old Russian dialect I wasn’t entirely familiar with. I’ve included rough translation but even with them it hardly helped alleviate the bizarre flavoring of his tale. Even though the following was certainly blasphemous to any self-respecting Christian, neither the Scott nor the Irish men protested or even spoke during this surprise entertainment. He began by praising his lord and humbling himself to him. He dropped his head and begged quietly under his breath for the lord to guide “this misbegotten flock”. Then after looking back at us with that fervent smile he dropped into the tale. For the first time in the journey, his eyes were fixed.
The lord was from ‘the old country’, bit odd but no one was shocked that his ramblings were mad. Realizing how unfruitful and arid the Siberian desserts were, he promptly sent his followers to America in a time before ‘the war’, he did not specify which. He wanted the vast green lands to the west and wished to fill the lush lands with his influence. However, the new lands and natives were not kind to his disciples. Their tales were those of grand failure. The first was some barbaric woman who could change her shape. Vicious as she was peculiar, she supposedly had a spear stemming from her hand and stone skin that shattered arrows. She was led to be trapped and butchered, her animal nature being her end. The other was also of stone. A man who could bend the earth to his will. Magic flowed from this man and his wisdom of the world was unmatched. However, the man’s hunger and arrogance led him to fall victim to the trickery of the Cherokee. Uyol nudged me and told me he knew their stories, I didn’t much care. They vaulted the remains as both trophies and warning to any other attempting to drive them from their homes. The lord felt his children become severed from him, and wept. The bellowing cries spread like white thunder through the wastes surrounding him. With this sorrow came a great insatiable fury.
The lord saw the failures of the man and woman. Though great and gifted with wonderous power, no one man or woman could finish the task he had set. His vision of a grand paradise for his people would require a champion just as grand. The lord carved this champion from the breath of a mountain. The very mountain he had emerged from at the beginning, once again he did not specify which beginning. Stoic and towering, the new grey goliath of a creature would serve him well. With the great strength and ravenous hunger of the changeling woman the giant was eager to fulfill the lord’s purpose. He stopped himself. For he was Granted the wisdom of the stone-man, and this made the giant hesitant. He knew that pure strength or cunning wit would not win, so he had to plot. The lord had tasked the giant with making a home for their people here and so it would do that. The colossus raked his blunt limbs into the bedrock and made them rigged with fingers like massive daggers. With every lash of the hand, it would clear a forest. The titan’s eyes were large and easy targets, so it plucked them out and let the wind tell it secrets. Standing above all things the winds carried the location of everything the wind had touched. Lastly, the hair upon its body would make easy kindling if given the chance, so that was stripped bare. Black hollow eyes, gnarled hands and smooth resilient mountain skin. It was given life, and it would return the gift ten-fold in the death it would propagate.
The giant marched west, each heavy footfall sending worrying quakes to the old guard in Europe. Submerging into the deep black cold nothing, he traversed the oceanic abyss unafraid. After the eight days of travel, his head peaked above the water, and he saw the new world. The giant found this place inhabited by all manner of beast and spirit that had conquered its brother and sister. Rather vicious and unforgiving in nature it slew everything in its path with brutal integrity to the quest. Tales of its hunger and devastation was spread far across America’s first peoples. The giant’s hunger was enough to tear the new world asunder. Its massive fingers blocked out the sun as it cleaved the land and dragged any living thing into its gargantuan maw screaming for salvation. The priest claimed this was the only salvation for those that go against the lord.
It carved out pieces of the frontier with ravenous episodes of consumption and destruction. The native people were horrified by this blight, this thing towering above them. The giant was eating everyone and everything they knew. Their guerrilla tactics proved ineffective, as did their attempts to trap the beast. Soon the fear of this ginormous predator became to much for the natives to bear. They had lost much, but they came to the solemn conclusion that staying would yield nothing but more suffering. He had succeeded in driving them from their home they had once fought so hard for.
The natives sought help from something the priest called the ones in the night, but they were turned away and left to suffer. Whatever lived in the night seemed to detest the native tribes of america as much as the giant had and they relished their exodus from their lands and ceded the lands east of the mountains to the giant.
The giant was happy as he had served the lord well and accomplished his holy quest. The giant howled with delight, a terrible mad sound that shook the ground and disrupted the sky. For the righteous endeavor taken on by the giant, he was given an equally honorable name. A name that would be spread far and wide under the lord’s teachings. The great consumer was labeled Pravednyy Golod.
The fire began to dim, and I suggested the priest saved the remainder of his story for another time. The priest prattled on, attempting to continue. His eyes were wildly darting in different directions like an unhinged lizard. Uyol and I stood up, it was made clear it was more than a simple suggestion. He only smiled at us with those vacant eyes, his hair never staying static atop his pudgy head. Finally the eyes of the priest settled. He offered me a plate of his black meat, but before I could decline a raven flew down and attacked his hand. The priest broke composure, hissing and barking at the black bird, we saw the little priest go into a frenzy. He kept shouting about ‘devil birds’, but I was glad it had happened. I watched him thrash wildly at the bird and wondered just how animalistic his beliefs were. Man is nothing more than an educated animal after all, and men like the priest have no use for education. It appears we’ve been funded by some cabal of crackpots.
It’s been a few days since that story, and I haven’t been sleeping well. Any rest I do get is plagued by the same visions. I’m standing at the mouth of a small cave. Its claustrophobic, the walls only about seven or eight feet high. Ripping winds hits me. They aren’t cold, just coarse. Passing through me, and grinding like sand on every fiber of my being . Paralytic, I’m always motionless save for trembling. I can hear splashing. The sound grows louder, and I realize its rushing water, as something begins to shift in the darkness and the noise begins to erupt forth. I wake with a start. When I awake, I’m always be surrounded by ravens, staring down at me from the barren branches. These trees smattered with black feathers painted ominous feelings in everyone it seemed. Except for Uyol it seemed, he slept soundly under the black watchmen. Every night those birds would swoop down and land upon his head without interrupting his peaceful slumber. I am within something strange.
After the third dream, I’ve decided to share pipe with Uyol Ama at night. A strange herb with an odd taste but it keeps the dreams away and gets me my rest. Besides the morning fogginess and occasional raven resting on my body, it has been pleasant. The other help hasn’t been doing as well, they’ve been twitchy, hostile, and aggressive beyond reasonable degree. I had thought they’d lost their energy, but this newfound jolt to their reflexes seems to be turning that around. Watching them fight with shaky hands and flitting eyes, it brings me back to the Chinese opium dens I once frequented. The surveyors and my acquaintance leading them don’t care about any of the recent developments and plan on taking a few narrows coming down through the mountains. I fear Uyol Ama may want to leave earlier than we planned, his faith dwindling quicker than mine. He claims that the he doesn’t know anything of this Pravednyy Golod but the man and woman the priest spoke of were eerily familiar to stories he was told as a child. I’d brushed him off before, but any info on this strange little man and his tales would settle my rattled self. When I asked him to further explain these odd subjects, he declined and claimed that speaking of bad spirits when in such a situation as ours was asking for trouble. I simply shook my head; the trouble was already here. The winds have been silenced and now the snow is falling.
12/16/1876
Yesterday we lost one of the surveyors. He wandered off the trail and stumbled into a mountain lion. At least that’s what we think it was. We couldn’t kill the creature, hell we couldn’t see it! It ran off in the darkness with barely a nicked limb. Snarling howls like a woman being murdered, it must have been a lion. The lead admonished us for failing to protect one of his staff. I made him aware of the fact that we had warned the gentleman that there were signs of predation in the vicinity and it was the surveyor’s fault for wandering off alone. He didn’t like my justification and if he were not the man freeing me from debt, I would have had added him to our losses. If I lament anything, it’s the universe withholding fur and meat. After I received further verbal assessments of my skill, I returned to the campfire with Uyol. I couldn’t stop my growling stomach from mourning the lost opportunity offered by the lion for savory salvation. Just writing about the thing makes my mouth water. All I wanted to do was settle into a state of numbed patience.
The help were huddled close to each other, eyes darting back and forth. While agitated from malnourishment and paranoid insomnia, they were fixed to each other like brothers. Hard times such as these breed hardy comrades. The creature was still out there somewhere, they could join the surveyor tonight if they were unlucky. I on the other hand was praying it would come for us. My ears perked at every snapped twig and windy tree, I find myself becoming animal. Possibly I always have been, and these natural surroundings allow the guise of man to crumble. All I know is the hunger may drive me feral soon.
The priest arrived to lighten spirits amongst the rabble. He hopped up on his rocky stoop and produced the same putrid meat. As it crackled on the skillet, his eyes blinked around the camp like a newt. I hate this man’s smile. It isn’t natural. He must have embedded nails through those pale flabs of flesh the way they’re stretched. His eyes weren’t nearly as fixed as his leering smile. They bobbed around in his skull with no real target, never focusing on anything. I tremble to imagine what he sees floating through his mind. He raised his arms dramatically, but he was in no hurry. The firelight struck the priests small form, illuminating a shadow of power. His stumpy limbs raised his cloak, the shadow fell on the mountains that even the moon could not see. Without drawing a breath, he opened his gnarled yellow-toothed jaws and began to spin his tale.
Hundreds of years had passed since Pravednyy Golod had cleared the lands of natives and animals alike. Even the mighty magicians and blasphemous spirits were no match for the titanic foe. Those that were left found solace in their hidden collectives, safe from the colossal terror on the coast. He had rested in this time and digested carnage inside his bloated grey belly. His laid back in his own crater and thrummed his fingers against the valley floor, humming to the peaceful silence he’d created. Then from the heavens, the skies parted lifting the veil. Pravednyy’s rest was at its end.
It was the lord and he had returned with fury unknown even to the great giant. He admonished and thrashed Pravedny for his sin of sloth, for there were now vermin beginning to infest the land. On the eastern shores there was a new host of combatants ready to lay claim to what was rightfully the lord’s. Pravednyy shrieked in such terrible anger and pain that it rends the very clouds that held the lord aloft. It clamored like a wild animal across America to these blond fur clad warriors who came on wooden dragons. Roaring as red tears streamed from those vacant sockets. These arrivals had made a mockery of its quest and belittled Pravednyy in the lord’s eye. Pravednyy would not return to the nameless hell. For treachery against the lord, against itself, the giant would slaughter them all with reckless abandon. In this bloodshed, Pravednyy desperately hoped the lord would forgive him and allow him to retain his name. These invaders would find no mercy.
Pravednyy met them near the vast ocean and ravaged their numbers. Just like the natives before, they were raked into oblivion. However, these men came with champions of their own. The story doesn’t make much sense to me as he names these champions in Russian dialect that’s a bit older than my ear. There was a person who “rode the thunder” that racked Pravednyy’s legs, a man “unbroken by any weapon” who shattered the giant’s teeth, and “ a one eyed devil made of ravens” who filled its belly with poisonous black birds. They engaged in a tremendous battle that shook the foundations of the world. The very earth trembled sending messages of reverent fear to all those inhabiting it. The sky became blackened with flashes of brilliant light dashed across the horizon. The world over, many saw the battle but did not understand it.
After countless dead the battle of champions was reaching a silence. Blood choking the rivers, and the land becoming forever stained; This host of foes brought Pravednyy to his knees. Slicing open his grotesque belly caused the water of life he had consumed to rupture out of his bloated form like a geyser. Black and terrible, it ate away at everything it touched. The foreign champions would see the beast they vanquished drained of all it stole from the earth. Golod started lashing out desperately for escape and the champions let them flee in cowardice to shame the giant. Crawling with hacked limb and broken soul it clung to the mountains. They had given the giant life once before; they would surely save him now. With the last of its strength, Golod burrowed into the mountains. Clutching its cut belly, it could not stop the hunger within itself. The black waters flowed down and crawled up the mountain walls till it found and opening. Pravednyy’s blood drank deeply of the earth and those foolish enough to get close. It slumbers still, feeding and restoring its might.
The Scott was fixed to his chair, staring deeply as the priest flew his hand in every direction. The story was enrapturing the younger folks, and one of the passing surveyors were now listening intently. The shadows danced in a frenzy around us, for a brief moment I thought I saw someone watching us within them. I shook my head and grabbed my half empty bottle of port. I needed some air and space from the carnal showing before I became another fearful mongrel at the priest’s feet. I excused myself and went to find Uyol. Once I had, I realized I would receive no reprieve from the madness.
Uyol was standing alone in a clearing with his head tilted back, as if straining to hear something. A coat of some unknown material I’d never seen him wear before. I approached and hailed him wondering where he’d procured it, I found the words catch in my throat once my eyes had properly adjusted. The black mass I’d thought was a fur began to wriggle and twitch across his body. It was ravens, a murder had cloaked him entirely. Their beady black eyes seemed to crawl across his body like minute little bugs. There were ravens upon his head and shoulders calmly watching. They cocked their heads calmly as they observed my tepid step. I was afraid they were going to attack me the way they were poised. A second halted and I felt whispers caressing my mind. They had words to share that lay hidden behind their black marble eyes.
I launched my arms forward, and they scattered from my friend. When I spoke , he jumped and nearly fell over some rotting plant debris. He shook his head and beat pummeled his own ears, my words had dazed and irritated him. When he came back to the present his head froze in his hunched position Uyol became uneasy, his eyes searching his shoulders. He seem to not have noticed the ravens, but their absence was certainly a disturbance. After he’d calmed down I asked him if he was alright. Either he didn’t hear my question or he found it unimportant as he completely ignored it and began rambling. He claimed fervently that he had heard something. He said he was drawn by a familiar noise that conjured something in his spirit he couldn’t quiet. I told him it was just the sounds of nature and the hardships of this trek that were manifesting his delusions.
I don’t know what to do at this point, the party has gone mad. Our leader is blind to what is happening below him, and now my only comrade has developed hallucinations. Uyol’s stories and songs gave me a peace at night but no the silence fractures what is left of my heart. I miss him, but I feel as if my mind is slipping further towards him into nothingness as well. My nutrition has made me weak and I can hardly keep my eyes open on the trail. I’ve been subsisting off nuts, berries, and the occasional rodent I can catch. The priest keeps offering that “meat”, but I’ll be damned if I eat that ghastly log. I wish I had died before I came on this expedition. All this struggle now feels fruitless.
12/25/1876
It’s Christmas I believe, although I may be off. Based on the stars it should be. I never really celebrated the holiday, but it made my work profitable. Children don’t need toys, but certainly need to eat. On Christmas I was given the gift of wisdom. Just a single nugget. No one will give you anything, you must take what is needed, and when much is needed a life must be taken.
I remember I killed my first man on Christmas. I was in his bakery and he had a knife out. He was far larger than I and would have made his bakery into a butcher shop if not for the stone I tossed through his fat flabby face. I don’t feel bad about doing it, it was him or me. If I had not killed him, he would have killed a child of ten who was hungry and desperate. Hungry and scared and with such deep shocking terror drowning his eyes. Yet he still came at me with that blade. If he had put the knife down, and instead greeted me with an understanding nod and a plate of bread…well maybe my life would better. I don’t mean in stature or material leisure but maybe in morality. I’ve never been a moral person though, even when I was dirty child in the alleys; the moral economy of man is bankrupt as long as a select few don’t follow the rules. I believed that rules were meant to be broken, as if they are a layer keeping the weak from exploiting life like those with proper grit do. I’ve lived my life that way, and where has it gotten me? Freezing to death on Christmas with oblivious scholars and damned raving lunatics.
Uyol has been keeping his distance from the travelling party recently, I don’t blame him, in fact I envy that lost bastard. All the surveyors save for two, including the lead, have joined into the priest’s wagon. However, the other sane surveyor recently went missing, not that our lead would notice. The stars may have lead him astray, his curiosity may have blinded him to a cliff, or the stench of the nightly fire side feasts got to him and drove him away in a frenzy. The food has almost entirely been that black steak the priest seemingly has no end to. Along with it he’s now been producing a “sacrament”. An equally putrid sludge that he dispenses from an urn directly into his yipping servants. Yet, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him share in the consumptive worship; I haven’t seen him do much really. Besides the dispensing of rations, he just shuffles about and spouts off nonsense for fools. Everyone’s eyes are darting everywhere so fearful of every noise and movement. The priests bobbling eyes are now so focused.
The trees are barren, their blackened tendrils struck against the grey skies here. I see them now as hands clutching at us as we travel, keeping me here. Even the ravens have left me. I haven’t eaten in few days, and my water reserves are getting dangerously low. I should have taken my chances with Baltimore. Tennessee has taken far longer to get through than it should have, the scenery changes but I swear when I focus, I can feel a pattern. I don’t think I’m going to leave here.
1/3/1877
The storms have lifted, and the dim sun shines luck through the clouds. I find a few weak deer in the snow. They were nearly frozen together when I found them. Huddled snug in a hollow log. The little ones were more bone than meat, but I feasted on their emaciated carcasses gratefully. My spirits lifted, but I can’t say the same for the others. Uyol has been scouting a head for a few days now and was unable to share the boon. He’s been leaving markings for us on the trees. Occasionally it is a bird, sometimes it is a struck eye. No one knows what they mean, but I don’t think anyone but me is paying attention. I hope he is alright; it would be shameful if I let another comrade die. I have some of the deer scraps left, if he comes back tonight, I will happily share with him. I hope he comes back tonight.
The priest has been silent, and so has everyone else. I’m not sure if I find his story telling or his silence more unsettling. I heard the scribbling hands of one of the surveyors for the first time in my recent memory. I walked over eager to find some normalcy to cling to in the surveyors clinical notes and diagrams. When I looked upon the academics page I found his bony fingers simply circling over and over as he rocked his head forward in a unending approval of his own work.
The priests silence bothers the others far more than me. The party has become his flock, and without his guidance they have grown frailer and more afraid with every grey morning.They clamor around him almost shoulder to shoulder. I’m not sure if they’re doing it for the priest’s protection or their own. Since Uyol and the ravens have been gone, the dreams have returned. However, I find myself apathetic now. The fear that filled me before has been replaced by a void of weighted sorrow dragging further into the dark of the night.
The cave in front of me is no longer terrible, rather it appears inviting. The winds never emerge so I step further into the cave’s darkness. My legs move with strength that only comes from an expectation of an imminent end to struggle. When my legs are finally allowed to halt, im staring into that inviting nothing. I stand at the ledge and peered over into the abyss. I could hear that water again, only it was calm this time. Breathing deeply and closing my eyes I can smell the dried blood in this place. The wind came forth an embraced me like a mother caring for a crying babe. With a gentle tug forth I moved, and into the dark and fell. I struck water like a soft bed and sank deeper into a blackness only known to the blind. There is something in the water, but I can’t see it. It’s too dark. Although, I can make something out, at the bottom I think, as drift closer to it I can see two dark hollow holes upon a grand pale surface. Resting there in the black, the huge thing appears glassy and dead.
When I wake now, I feel refreshed, more complete than we I awoke. The others are all so cloistered in their minds of fear and retribution. The priests stories cannot be trusted him and his smile are to be the death of this party. His stories chatter on endlessly in my mind, only spite keeps me from going completely mad. Our lead surveyor has led us to nothing and shall continue to do so. Every day, I wake up and I can hear the water rushing a little louder. We will be there soon.
1/12/1877
I had almost forgotten about my journal. I have been focusing too much on the road, as it has been more than treacherous. The trail swallowed one of the Irish boys. He wandered away in the night, and we’ve only found articles of his travel pack. He wasn’t acting any different manner that his cohorts weren’t mimicking to the same degree. The priest was awfully chatty the night prior to the lad’s departure. Telling more stories of his faith. I decided to speak up and inquire what denomination he hailed. Questions lead to hoarse cries of blasphemy from his flock, but I didn’t care to earn their scorn. With his smile still stuck, he offered a simple answer. His faith came from the body of the lord, the flesh and blood of him and all the blessings they provided. At this he brought out the nightly meat serving, and those fools continued to eat it up. I have lost about 30 maybe 40 pounds since we left from Kentucky, I refuse to eat that tainted meat. I must be careful where I sleep now, I’m bruising far easier. The rocky ice and desolate trees offer very little comfort. My life is forfeit but I will not die by nature’s hand, not curled pitifully amongst the snow in agony. I now think that those damned ravens were sticking around just to starve me. Eating the even the bugs in rotted wood I could have taken a bit of protein. Perhaps they grew tired of waiting for myself and the others to drop.Now on the edge of death, they are nowhere to be seen. Even though I scarcely have eaten in the past few days, the others have become paler than I. Their skin mirrors the snow like that priest. The daily travels are frivolous and our direction random. My acquaintance, or lead, and what I thought was to be my salvation is utterly devoid of intelligence. This isn’t empty insults spit with venom but a simple observation. His responses have been the same to any interaction recently and stares at the sky and maps blankly as we travel, ignoring the nature he was sent to explore.
Although was that our purpose? Explore? And for what? I confess that I have lied, swindled, and killed. There are men in many states and countries that have wanted my head at one time or another. My vices have led me down dead ends and burned bridges. Yet I find that my end will be here on these cold rocks. I will die unbeknownst to my enemies and their hatred will be the only memory of me upon this earth. My debts will be paid whether I leave this mountain or not. Penance has been served, but it hasn’t ended.
Uyol Ama’s signs have been stagnating, and yet our lead continues to follow their trail effortlessly, focusing more on the gnarled branches above him rather than anything of significance. I had to stop him from walking off a rather obvious ledge and didn’t even seem to notice the threat nor me wrenching him backwards. The blind leading the blinded. I have waited too long to attempt leave. My strength would surely fail me before I could get anywhere near civilization. At night I no longer see stars, at least they aren’t ones I’ve ever seen. My only hope is that the water I have heard in recent days is in fact a genuine water source. If I’m lucky I can get some game while it drinks unaware. I know I’m not the only one who can hear it, the priest fidgets now at the mention of it. Seeing that pasty goblin giddy brings up feelings of disgust akin to witnessing a loved one perform bestiality. The level of hate I feel for this devil in disguise has been building since I witnessed him shuffle forth to join the survey mission. I should have gutted him before it got to this. I should have driven my knife deep in that thing’s flabby gullet. His conglomeration of the survey party now stays around him at all hours of the day and night. They are a sickly suffering lot, always pushing forward but clearly wrapped in anxiety and pain. The priest has become their only beacon on this odyssey of theirs. Stay close to your torches boys, when it is snuffed I’ll be waiting for you in the darkness.
1/15/1877
The flock is gone. We found the water and they found their salvation. That incessant lapping and rushing stemming from this black snake unfurling out of the mountain. It is such a small river, hardly even a stream, and yet I’ve heard it even in my dreams. The others went even further into their delirium when they found it. I watched the sickly flock become hollering frightened dogs. The priest walked slowly and smugly with an amused smile. Satisfied with the fruition of his pilgrimage, he sat down and seemed to fall into a meditation mere foot from the river. Its waters were so dark, though it must have been no deeper than a few feet the bottom was concealed from prying eyes. Its body ran all the way up the mountain and disappeared down it in the same uninterrupted path. Slithering through natural brooks with otherworldly movements. The priest stayed silent and his followers slowly obliged the same quiet courtesy.
I just watched, its all I could do with the energy I had left . Witnessing the dark waters delivered a feeling of finality to my heart. The same spiteful heart had given at that moment .My vessel can’t carry me through any further. It has withered to such a gaunt sinewy mess I will most likely not survive the week. The dreams I had faded days ago and now the blackness and silence interrupted fevered . Uyol Ama returned. But not till after the others…I still don’t know what happened. The priest woke up seemingly. His step was now far stronger than it had been, and his followers reveled around him. They were almost dancing into the water. The priests squat stature allowed him to keep only his face above the moving currents. The others delved in mostly to the waist and stomach. With their hands vaulted to the heavens, they proudly proclaimed their love for the lord.
All of them were so pale, you could count the bones in each one of them through the tattered cloth they were draped. Some dark baptism was taking place before my eyes. Their tears struggled to escape their sunken eyes as they kept their heads pointed up into the uncaring grey skies. They began to wail in some euphoric flurry. They kept still save for this terrible shaking they had taken on. I crawled closer to the water, I needed to see the mystery I’d been chasing. The water had become like tar around the men and kept the congregation still as the priest said a few words. I wrote them as best as I could. I felt compelled.
“Tahnarukk, Prince of the devourers, Son of Lord Primarru. I gaze upon the wreck of your champion and bring blood and faith to mend. Tahnarukk, oh great consumer and granter of knowledge, divine upon these bodies the blessing that they may rise a new champion to guide your flock. Tahnarukk, hear me praise your name in your prison, here me and see me. Be here in this mountain.” With this, the priest began the baptism.
The priest moved from one man to the next pushing or pulling their bodies into the waters. AS he did, the waters arouns each of the men relaxed and swallowed each man to the neck. Once there the waters constricted shifting back to the sludge before. Then I heard noises and with them the men swallowed began to contort their faces in agony and scream. The noises I heard were so permeating they drowned out the weak crys of the men. It was their bones. . The noises were muffled sickeningly by the tar around them but I could tell the river was accepting the tribute the priest had graciously brought. Loud popping continued to come from beneath the black surface, jitters ran through each of their faces of twitching eyes and quivering lips.
When the final man was submerged and the screaming was silent as the river took them. The waters crept up their faces and entered any opening those poor bastards’ heads. The river stripped them of everything and all that remained were skins floating on the tarry surface, emptied entirely by the river. Their twisted skins looked like white petals in the river. The priest opened his eyes and began wailing gleefully amongst his hollow congregation. I cowered and attempted to push away from the edge of the water as I listened to his horrendous celebration. The water returned to its traditional flow and…and it reversed. The priest’s gaze fell on my pitiful form as the river began to take him up. He smiled at me knowingly, knowing that either I would perish, or I too would fall prey to the river. I felt the skin of my fingers breaking as I clutched the toppled tree I laid against.
My chest heaved weakly with revulsion. As I lay against the dead tree trunk, I dropped my head and felt the cold comforting feeling of myself slipping away to the safety of nothingness. My eyes drifted from light to darkness and back again. The weakness in my chest overwhelmed me. I was only roused by the sudden sizable vibration and by simple reflex my body jolted numbly upright. It was Uyol, my confidant. His frame was akin to mine but he seemed to manage better.. The gaunt shadows upon his face mirrored mine as well , as did his gaze. Only I could not meet his eyes. One of his sockets had been struck from his visage. A bloody cross of serrated scars replacing his left optic. The ravens were strewn about, attached firmly to his shoulders and head. He dragged me away from the water and fed me some small berries and water. As I came back to myself only slightly, I spoke for the first time in the past week.
“Uyol…what is happening, where did you go?” The raspy noise that dragged itself past my teeth desperately looked to him for an answer. His voice was not much different.
“I do not know.” He simply sat and kept his eye on the water in front of us. “I had visions, I thought it was home calling me back.” I listened intently as he spoke more than he had the entire journey. “I was orphan, found wandering amongst mountains, I had no kin or clan, but my family took me as me. They good people. It made them vulnerable. I saw this when I became a man. I was young, and foolish. Their compassion was a flaw and their hospitality a willing weakness. White men came and took advantage of that. It’s been so long now since my family was taken. Now, I no longer remember my mother’s voice.” His words became stoic with his voice. A look of confused melancholy had made a home of his thin face, but his eyes remained fixed towards the river. He paused for a time, then with unsure footing he continued. “Then in the dreams of that dark water, I heard it again.” I sat in silence waiting for him to continue but he simply sat there. Possibly trying to muster the strength to continue or maybe he was selfishly trying to reach the oblivion he’d ripped me from.
“I was there, at the bank of the river. My mother was submerged, and the water lashed at her as she sang. Each time more of her flesh was sheared away. Her voice was filled with sorrow, but at the same time it was free. The water tried to drag her down, but she wouldn’t fall. When I tried to go in and rescue her, she stopped singing and pleaded with me to stay away from the waters. So I sat and wept as I watched the river destroy her.” I could see the tears running down his face, even as the sun was dipping below. At this point I welcomed the dark, at least it would hide anymore atrocities from my vision. I was too tired to be frightened by anything at this point, but I felt the dull pain of my sanity breaking. I stood. Finding a final reserve of strength, I began to trail the waters up the mountain. Uyol followed.
“It was true wasn’t it? That creature’s tale about giants and heroes.” I said deflated. It all felt like some elaborate jest. The priest had been delivered to his gluttonous titan. I would see to it that the end of this road was one of my own. There were no heroes here, just a derelict and a native. The fruition of this grand ritual of macabre and terror was my prize for surviving. Spite began to burn again in my impetuous heart. If this was my prize, then the giant’s would be two killers coming to split his belly.
It didn’t take long for us to reach the mouth and source of the river. I could feel the same winds from my dreams emanating. The first time it brought me terror and pain, the second it bathed me in a loving embrace. Now as I felt the winds graze past my frayed form, I felt nothing. The winds threatened to toss me off the mountain. I thought I would be carried off. Trapped within silver clouds that taunted me with droplets of sun. This entire expedition had led to this. I didn’t know how the priest planned to raise Pravednyy from the belly of the mountain, but we ne sure to confine to those depths. Uyol and I took the gunpowder from our packs and rigged the rocks above. We watched the rubble crumble into the river and seal its escape. The shaking did not stop.
The mountain had settled but those below felt their stream crushed. I swear it sounded like a trumpet blast from revelations. As times passed and the muffled echo drifted into nothing and we rested. The rumbling the sound left ceased and Uyol began laughing and weeping, holding his head in his hands. I collapsed for a second time under the moon and the stars. I let my chest rise and fall at my own rhythm enjoying the peace. Maybe we would make it out of these mountains yet. The debts and bounties on my head seemed like the easiest hurtle to manage. I looked to Uyol, speaking a different tongue. He was shaking as he reached upwards to the ravens around him. The birds were a blessing. They cawed down t us, showering us with praise. I wept with my friend and we danced. Then, Fate took a different turn.
The side of the mountain erupted, first to the east then to the west. Trunks of shadowy ink poured out like geysers. Once they calmed, massive stony grey limbs roughly protruded through the rock. They grinded against the mountains carcass as they forced themselves through. Arms greater than anything I’d ever imagined, adorned with four jagged fingers each. They scrambled, slammed, clawed, and dragged the earth. The thing needed to escape, but its shelter had become its prison. The ground pitched and trembled at the limbs’ frenzy. Soon though it lost its zeal and recoiled both arms back within the mountain. It’s movements inside the mountain echoed through the new caves. Uyol went to the caves before I did, his ear trained down into the abyss. Amongst the cacophony of destruction occurring down within the earth, there was singing. When I joined him at the edge, I realized the tongue was Russian. That’s when it was decided I suppose, maybe it was decided a long time ago.
I said before, I am no hero, but I’ll be damned if this monster escapes. I am a killer, a killer of killers. I’ve seen great fields of death and machinations of destruction that would make god shudder. This giant does not bring terror to my soul, rather instead my soul is parched and its blood will be my elixir. Its follower subjected me to torments in my wits and, that has taken any remaining shred of my humanity. The only thing I have left is a boiling pit in my stomach made of fury and spite. Uyol and I will delve into the cave and put the thing down our self. I do not care if I perish, I suppose I stopped worrying about my mortality some time ago. All I want is to see Pravednyy bled again. I will drive my hands into his chest and wrench the dark heart propelling the beast.
I returned to my pack and realized without gunpowder my weapons were useless. I’d lost everything. I tossed my empty pack and wept in frustration. As I spiraled, Uyol came to my side. Within his grasp was an obsidian blade, chipped and colored from use.
“I am sorry brother, but to face this spirit, you must wear his mask.” He pulled my hair back and drove the blade into my eye. Pain echoed through the mountains. After treating the wound, I weakly looked to him. My vision blurred and strained.
“Why…why did you do this to me? Have you to fallen to madness, are you another apparition of torture hounding my soul?” My hands felt the dry skin on his face. He was there, and his betrayal wasn’t an illusion. He stood and left me upon the ground. He tossed the blade to my side and brandished another. The ravens flew from him and congregated upon a boulder. Through the tears and blood I swore I saw a man. It must have just been the bird’s feathers, because it looked like cloaked figure with a wide brim hat.
“What is today Monroe?” my attention was drawn back to Uyol. He stood at the mouth of the eastern cave. My mind racked with agony, I looked to my journal here.
“It’s Wednesday…” This brought a smile to his face. He closed his eye, took the blade into his mouth and dove into the darkness. I crawled to the cave, my fingers sunk into the footprints in the mud. Then I realized something. My fear had passed, and the mountain was silent. I looked back towards the stars and saw familiar constellations. The illusions had passed. My legs failed me, but my arms clung to the patches of grass and rock as I dragged my husk towards the western cave. Draped upon the opening was a wreath of black bodies cawing down at me.
With the dark blade he’d left me, I drove it into the dirt and pulled myself closer and closer. I laughed and wept hysterically and with every inch that was scraped from me. I left my cloth and skin upon the mountain. It took me what must have been hours to reach them, but the birds remained all the same. I rested when I finally fell bloodied against the western cave. As I looked to them, they landed upon me for a final time, each pecking lightly at my flesh. Then without a sound, they flurried down into the cave and left me alone.
With dagger strapped to my left hand, I scribbled this final entry with my right. I will join Uyol, the congregation, and the beast. None shall leave this mountain. This damned earth. It is finally over. Oh lord I am sorry, I believe now. Please god save me from this hell. I repent the wicked ways that lead me here. I’m sorry Thomas, I’m sorry Morgan, I should have died in Germany with you boys, when we are all too young to know what horrors really laid ahead. This nightmare is coming to an end, but I will have no peace when I wake. The only peace I take with me, is that it is over. It will finally be over.
I write now to you, my friend. You spoke not a single word through our journeys and chose instead to listen. Your pages are now tarnished with my madness and the only gift I can give you is to set you down outside the cave and let you return to your ancestral origins. Thank you for being my companion and my only bastion from the trail. Goodbye book, I hope no one disturbs you.
The final excerpt below is written in a still undetermined black substance.
The sky is clear. I can hardly see with how bright it has become. It’s peaceful. The wind feels slower on my skin. It isn’t cold or warm it’s just a movement. Uyol is dead, the giant is dead, but the priest is gone. I fear what this quest has made me become. I no longer feel wholly man. My wrath spurns me forward and I cannot rest. I will hunt the priest down and silence him before I become what I am becoming. In the depths of the mountain, I was baptized in the giant’s blood by my own hand.
I thought before that this expedition was the punishment for who I was. Karmic retribution manifested horrendously to serve justice upon myself. I was wrong. This was just the reckoning, and I fear my judgment is only just beginning.
