Day: July 27, 2018

Over the Bridge

This is my favorite place in the Belomisian forest. The one I’ve been wanting to show the twins the most — after the Omiscan Temple, of course.

The waterfalls.

We cross the bridge above the chasm where rapid waters would wash us away in the blink of an eye if one of these old ropes were to give — or if a humid plank broke.

There, another gate. I start chopping at them. The sun has risen quite far since we first entered the jungle — I am starting to sweat already. This is probably my least favorite part, but at least the scenery is beautiful.

Cyril has finally found a purpose to his being here. He found an avocado tree and he’s picking a few of them to show Gram.

For a minute I’m under the impression that, invigorated by that discovery, he’s coming to help me.

He’s not. He’s mostly interested in the bush by the gate I’m clearing. I guess I can understand a nap, we did have a long day.  By which I mean, I dragged them to trek in a jungle after eight hours of flight.

Cléo has found something interesting of her own

She starts digging around a little more, in even more suspicious piles of dirt.

She’ll be giving me her findings to authenticate as soon as we come back.

Meanwhile, the gate and I are still in a one-on-one fight.

I’m determined to win this.

Unfortunately, so are the mosquitoes.

The First Gate

Here we are. The first belomisian test of strength — the gate to the depths of the jungle. I tell the twins to stand back as I whip out my machete. Long gone are the days when I would be the one to watch as Mom cut the overgrown branches down.

It’s possible I swirl it around a little too much and do a few unnecessary tricks, just to impress the twins.

Cyril is not watching, however. His nose is pretty much stuck on the sign near the gates, the one that clearly says “DO NOT. GO THERE.”

Luckily, it’s written in Selvadoradan, and Cyril can’t speak it.

What he can do, though, is tell what the pictograms mean, and the simplified, rain-washed spiders are no less terrifying than the “beware the tarantulas” warning.

Cléo is still standing a way back, watching.

Trust a twin to offer the best comfort. “It’s okay,” I hear her say. “Han knows what she’s doing, and I’ll hide you from the tarantulas if I need to.”

I hear Cyril giggle and conclude it was effective.

In the jungle, the mornings can get really cold. Cléo opted for the shorts, and she’s starting to wonder if that was such a great idea. It wasn’t really, but at least in a few hours she’ll be the only one of us who won’t be burning up.

While I work to destroy the branches, Cléo has kneeled next to a suspicious pile of dirt from whcihprotude what might just be old omiscan artifacts. She tries to encourage Cyril to dig around with her, but Cyril’s not about that. At all.

The path is cleared, and ready to be crossed. I’m the first to step through and clear the way. The most dangerous thing I run across is a family of capybara. One of their young is hurt, and by luring him with plants, I almost get close enough to inspect the wound — but I only manage to get bitten by one of its parents. So I decide to leave them through it — and I look for the next gate.

I made it! Now to go back to guide my siblings through.

Tales of Belomisia

What’s eight hours of flight when you know you’re going back to the place that feels most like home?

I guide the twins to the bungalow Mom and I have come to know so well. I do my best to contain my excitement, but I’m doing a terrible job at it. My heart is leaping around in my chest, and my voice gained two octaves. It’s easy to tell, too, because I can’t seem to stop blabbering. About the plants, the widlife, all the amazing things I hope to share with them soon…

At this point, archeology is not just my passion, it’s my full-time job. Will I ever get used to that feeling?

To be honest, probably not. Nor would I want to.

Do you have any idea how hard it is to motivate two teenagers to go on a hike through the jungle? It’s not like they haven’t had time to look up “Belomisian Forest” and read all about the mosquitoes, and the spiders, and the random curses…

So I start telling them a story. The story of the first omiscan kings, and how discovered how to trap spells into relics.

Cléo gets on board pretty fast. It wasn’t her I was really worried about anyway. She’s been dreaming of coming along with me ever since she was a kid. She engages with the story, and asks questions, and cheers when she’s supposed to.

Cyril’s a bit harder to convince. He’s not big on overseas vacations. As a proper aloof teenager, he’d rather have spent them in the comfort of our Newcrest home. We all know he only agreed to this because Cléo was excited.

But that’s not the plan, and I’m not one to give up. I continue with the story of the monkey and the sloth.

Now Cléo is excited. Even Cyril’s interest is piqued, if only a little bit.

Good enough for me! We’re ready for the jungle.