Cavernous Confrontation

Dear Journal,

It is strange, the difference between the feeling of sailing carelessly through the vastness of open sky, and the feeling of staring down into the black, bottomless throat of a cavern. Instead of seeing as far as one may wish to look, one’s vision is blocked by the impassable, unwavering blackness.

 

“Ready, Mister Zenas?” my friend John called down.

“Ready!” I lied.

 

The rope descended, and I with it. Down, down, down… I was lowered deeper and deeper into the increasingly cold heart of the island. Oh, the places I’ll go and the things I’ll do in the name of discovery! The tantalizing temptation of finding the treasure drew me irresistibly… in spite of the increasing sense of claustrophobia that clasped its tight embrace about me.

 

At long, long last, I touched down on the soggy, gritty surface of the cavern floor and, clutching my rope, peered around into the absolute midnight of the massive cave. Behind me, there, something caught my eye. A tiny glimmer of light – it came from a small tunnel. I could hear the sloshing sound of water as I slowly inched towards it.

 

Once through, I encountered another cavern, smaller than the last one and… surprisingly beautiful. Purplish foliage clambered down from the heights above, and amid the rocks grew pockets of glowing mushrooms, quietly lighting the shadows. A collection of small waterfalls fed several trickling rivers that drained into a rushing whirlpool on the left of the cavern. In the center of the cavern was a small isle of wet sand, in the middle of which stood a lone column, atop which laid a small, golden artifact. The moment I espied it I knew, after weeks of travel, I had found what I sought.

 

I crept up towards it in the soft beam of light, mist drifting hazily around me. I circled the item, examining its every beautiful detail before I could dare to reach out and lift it up from its base.

 

But then, Journal, the unmistakable sound of a flintlock pistol being cocked echoed off the walls of the rocky chamber. I froze, the untouched golden relic still before me, and slowly glanced up to see a figure standing opposite me.

 

“I will not insult your intelligence, Mr. Abbington, as long as you do not explore the boundaries of my patience.” A confident and mellifluous voice flowed from the tall, mysteriously black-clad figure. His pistol gleamed, aimed directly at my heart. Terrifyingly, one could not see his features, for his face was entirely covered in spotless, filmy cloth. No doubt he could see outwards, but none could look in at him.

 

I was shivering. “Who-o-o are you?”

 

“I see no purpose in divulging my identity to you, nor that of my companion.” To my horror, another figure, similarly dressed, though a bit heftier in the shoulders, stood just past him. He too was armed with a flintlock.

 

Suddenly my thoughts darted in a different direction. “Wait, what have you done with John?”

 

“Your companion? I underestimated the speed and agility of his craft. He sailed off and made good his escape. I am certain he understood the message of my cannons and he shall not be trifling with me any further.” A tiny click announced the removal of his weapon’s safety latch. “Now, Mr. Abbington, as your conversational abilities leave much to be desired… the tablet, if you please.”

 

It was then that I saw my opportunity. I snatched the golden square and held it, ready to cast into the whirlpool swirling just within reach of me. The man and his companion started in shock.

 

“Now, you masked man, I will not insult your intelligence. Lower your weapon and leave, or I shall toss this tablet to the waters.”

 

The stranger chuckled menacingly. “I am more than prepared to murder for that tablet. Are you prepared to die for it?”

 

“I suppose I will have to find out!” I cried, hurling myself and said tablet into the whirlpool in one swift dive.

 

I shall write again, dear Journal, as soon as I may, and explain just how I came to be writing this entry and not drowned.

 

-Zenas Abbington

Done