Voices muddled his senses as the cold breeze scratched his skin. Bastjan was numbed and dumbfounded by the ordeal he placed Clowee in. Guilt swept in like hungry vines eating the healthy.
He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held on tight to his cross as he was about to do the thing that only fools could do.
"I have to save her!" He whispered along with his quiet prayers, almost crushing the cross in his hands.
Once he opened his eyes, the darkness waved back at him. Bastjan braced himself, taking a deep breath as he jumped into the hole—not heeding his own fear that wanted to break his soul. "Be a gentleman!" He shouted as he went down, and down, and down into the belly of the abyss.
His screams echoed, shaking the walls that caged him in his fast descent. The little boy could feel some roughness, like that of an old tree, as he brushed his arms and hands to the sides. Blood percolated from the fresh cuts he gained. But with his mind circling Clowee's wellbeing, the pain from his new wounds was nothing but a diddly squat.
On what seemed like forever, Bastjan landed on the ground—a crash that could tumble a whole forest to the ground with pain running wild from his buttocks to his spine. He groaned, but then stood up, thinking Clowee was within reach.
Unbeknownst to him, the spot where he fell was not merely a hole in the earth but a site of historical importance, where massive, ancient roots gradually transformed into a safeguarding barrier over the many passing moons. The little boy was overwhelmed at such a place as if he were transported back in time. Upon entering the door that waited for him at the end of the hallway of tree roots, Bastjan was even more in awe, for the place was like the temple of ancient gods, as his father and mother would share with him. There were Doric pillars lined on each side, leading to three doors at the end. The room was large, and grand torches lit the dim space, making the atmosphere bright despite the fear that remained taunting deep within the boy's soul.
His feet stiffened from the cold, but again, Clowee's screams echoed in his head, reminding him of the blunder he had made.
Bastjan closed his eyes and took a deep breath, hoping to be wise in finding the right door to enter. "Do guide me with your light, oh, Lord…" He whispered, clasping his cross with passion.
Studying the three doors, Bastjan observed that they were distinguished by symbols carved on top. The first door had a spiral symbol, the second had an eye, and the third one had a bird. The little boy was careful, analysing thoughtfully as he avoided making the wrong choice, knowing time was running.
Could it be the first door?
It was possible, but it was too clear and an easy option if one needed to be discreet.
The second door, perhaps?
Moving closer, Bastjan began to criticise his notion for the same reason as the first door.
The third door might be the one…
However, the boy's doubt was growing—eating his soul with every second wasted.
Bastjan trembled as his heart pounded in a chaotic rhythm. He could feel the whole room prancing around him, as if the world were turning upside down right before him. The sounds of dancing flames crackled loudly along with his heartbeat, a sensation like hard nails scratching recklessly inside his ears.
There was numbness—grey clouds hovering, bringing forth madness in his thoughts. Looking up at the symbols, all turned mobile, gaining vitality as the spiral turned like a whirlpool, the bird soaring out of its frame, darting at the boy, his glare all red like fire, and there were the eyes, blue and wide, staring at him with malice.
Darkness was about to swallow him, along with all the self-doubt that had gradually possessed the very core of his psyche, yet he heard her…
"Clowee?" He called, but his voice was like that of a ghost—a ghost shaking from head to foot…
There were the little girl's screams echoing not far from him. He heard her from behind one of the doors, and panic rose as he leaned his ears to each of them, listening more closely.
He started with the third door and heard nothing but a soft gust of wind. He then moved to the first, with prayers; it would be the one. Nevertheless, upon listening, he detected light scuffling, but he was certain in his heart that Clowee was not there.
Lastly, Bastjan moved to the second door, where it was inscribed with an eye. The young boy swallowed nervously, yet he continued to heed the sounds coming from behind it. However, just as he was about to press his ears against the door, another scream echoed, confirming that it was indeed the door where Clowee was.
Gathering enough courage, Bastjan kissed his cross and slowly opened the door, revealing another hallway with one door at the end. Truly ancient was the room with all the wall frescoes depicting what seemed to be old gods and scenes from forgotten lores. Masks adorned the wall, yet none was considered beautiful; they featured wrinkled faces, large eyes that evoked fear, and elongated tongues with teeth resembling a boar—in essence, they were all grotesque.
Bastjan was disgusted by their faces but paid no more attention, focusing solely on getting Clowee from behind the door.
Upon entering, he saw a long descending spiral, where room after room was built. It looked like a prison—as Bastjan squinched to clear the fog, it was indeed prison cells with numerous punishments awaiting the unfortunate.
Below, in what he could only describe as the deepest part of hell, sitting on a throne adorned with large horns on either side, featuring the skulls of unknown ancient creatures at its base, was a large, grotesque beast. There were his guards—the same cryptids with equally ugly faces scowling and alert for beings who might trespass into their lair.
There was fascination and indignation while Bastjan observed these creatures from behind the darkness. He would not dare to make his presence easily discovered, knowing he had not spotted Clowee yet, even though he had heard her a while ago.
"Oh, please let me know where you are, Clowee!" Bastjan implored while he remained hidden from the cryptids who now roamed the same floor as he occupied.
He closed his eyes and regulated his breathing, wishing that no sound would escape him to betray his hiding place. And after a few cryptids on guard passed him by, Bastjan moved out and slowly walked towards an empty room—now alert in searching for Clowee.
The cryptids were truly scary creatures, with their faces all deformed and skin like fish scales, coloured with the hues of rotten fungus. They were loud and rowdy, for the little boy noticed those who were eating some flesh had no decency or table etiquette. With every bite, blood oozed out from their mouths, making Bastjan lightheaded from the disgust he felt.
Although a brute they might be, Bastjan pondered whether they had wits behind those ugly faces. "They are truly repulsive, like what the tales said. But I must be on guard at all times. I do not think lost children only end up in these cells." He then recalled the cryptids' mouths that were filled with bloody meat. He then clasped his hands and prayed he would reach Clowee. "I need to find you!" There was determination now brewing inside him.
By the commands of heaven, his prayer was immediately answered, for Clowee's screams echoed throughout, shaking the whole prison palace and making the whole walls crumble until lines of cracks became more and more vivid.
"Ah!" Poor little Clowee screamed so loud, ringing in the cryptids' ears. "Let me go! Get your wrinkly hands off of me!"
She kicked and shouted despite four cryptids holding her. But her frail body could not be matched for the beasts of darkness. Little Clowee became weaker, though she fought and pleaded for freedom. "Please, I want to go home!" She said tearfully before the large cryptid on the throne, who seemed to be the leader of them all.
"Go home?" The foul-faced leader mocked. "Little girl, we cryptids vowed to avenge our ancestors from nosy humans like you! Children who are naughty and wander off will surely pay the price. Bones are ground, flesh peeled off; farewell to those children who flourished in pride and stubbornness."
Clowee eyed him from head to foot, criticising his very existence as she noted how rotten the leader's appearance was. Unfortunately, all of them were dreadful, and not even the saintly creature could grant them mercy, knowing they had decay not only on the outside but also on the inside. "Please, Lord, do not let these horrible creatures take me!" Clowee prayed silently as she condemned the cryptids' vulgarity.
Immense fear blossomed in the little girl's heart—an unwanted sensation now that her feet were slowly betraying her. She must not falter before the monsters, hoping she would be free and return to Bastjan. She fought not just the strength of the cryptids, their leader's insult, and the heaviness of her eyes that dared to take her to slumber.
Green eyes, truly wicked and mad, the leader of the cryptids glared at her up and down. "I smell red… Red, I smell…" He then stretched out his nose and exaggeratedly inhaled, taking the scent that started to bother him. "You smell different."
The little girl was anxious, but more puzzled as to what he meant. "Re—red?" Her voice was minute and cracking.
"Red…" The cryptid said. "Red… crown…"
"Cro—crown?" Clowee echoed and thought quickly, concluding that this beast could have sensed she was a princess. Her heart was pounding, panic surging like wild waves inside her lungs, and her lips faintly shaking, praying he would not hurt her. "I—I have no crown in my hands. I haven't worn any, for I am just a poor girl."
The leader of the cryptids said nothing, inhaling one more time with more force as if he were absorbing all the air. There was really this aroma that tingled like onions scratching the insides of his fat nose.
The lingering scent of it was too faint, yet also very present. He knew too well what that aroma was… Oleander.
Nodding as he closed his eyes, yes, he concluded it was Oleander. The sweet and delicate scent was too familiar to ignore. And such a scent was prominent in those who had royal blood in their veins—descendants of the ancient king took hold of the sacred flower. The leader of the cryptids was angered by this knowledge, clenching his fist; his jaws tightened at the thought of his ancestors, and now they suffered such a travesty.
While reminiscing about the age-old loathing, Clowee waited for him, standing with keen eyes, mouth still quivering. She wondered what was inside his head—was there even a brain behind that horrifying face?
Little Clowee always thought that the cryptids would be small creatures, but they were not. They were about the size of adults, and they were mean and truly wilder than any untamed beasts. The moment she fell into the hole, the guarding cryptids immediately captured her and placed her in a large sack before bringing her there in front of their leader. And while she was inside the horrible, smelly sack, she eavesdropped on the cryptids' conversation as they casually recalled how they punished those imprisoned children before disposing of them. The little girl wanted to vomit upon hearing this knowledge and prayed she could escape.
While searching for some exit, slowly looking left and right at every corner of the hellish place, the leader of the cryptids coughs and opens his eyes, inquiring, "Do you know why we hate humans like you?"
Clowee said nothing at first, facing him with wonderment across her face. He certainly was a conversationalist. "Wh–why?" She finally asked, crossing her hands behind her.
"My ancestors were guards of the sacred oleander. When a king took it from our lord, we were punished and forced to hunger flesh—children's flesh. If none were caught for a month or a year… We are forced to eat each other. Now, we vow to double our effort in catching children, but we hated the creatures of the forest for they bit us and even ate us!" The leader then rose from his seat and wobbled his way closer to the alarmed little girl. "It is such a shame that a pretty little girl like you would soon end up in our cauldron…"
But before he could reach her, a song roared from somewhere that made the cryptids shudder in fear…
"He who has taken the trials of the land
And summon from place afar,
Was a servant chosen
And heaven will never abandon.
He shall have no fear,
For God is his strength
And the sword he upheld
It is to break man's burden under the evil oath."
Finding a large hollow conchshell, Bastjan took hold of it and sang, booming his song all over to dispel the vile creatures. He raised his voice and made sure each word was clear…
And he made sure his melody penetrated through the walls of the forsaken Hades; none spared even the ancient critters that crawled below.
"Bastjan!" Clowee whispered joyfully as she freed herself from the grasp of the four cryptids.
"Come back! Come back, you little dastard!" One of the guards yelled. "Ah!" He then screamed as Bastjan repeated his song that painfully rang in their ears.
"Please… stop this song!" One of the horrid creatures screamed, covering his ears that were now bleeding.
"Where is this coming from?" Another, who now curled down on the ground like a worm, questioned.
As she was about to run and hide away from the ruckus, one frail but still steadfast cryptid grabbed her arm and scolded, "No, we do not want to go hungry again!"
"Let me go!" Clowee yelled back, pushing the cryptid's wrinkly hands away. But she then remembered her cross, hidden inside her sidrija. She took it out, pushing the gold cross to the cryptid's face, and burned the skin of his face, making him scream and run in a chaotic pattern.
A shock waved through Clowee's body as she witnessed the peeling off of the cryptid's face. Yet, there was cheer in her soul—a glory, knowing the cross worked and she had no need to be frightened in facing the horrid creatures.
"Move back! Not an inch near me!" She yelled at every cryptid that dared to take her as she pushed her cross in front of them.
Seeing this, Bastjan could not help but smile, happy to find Clowee fighting back these vile creatures.
But the joy he felt would not last long, for the poor little girl tripped on one of the tumbled chairs, hurt her foot, and hit her head on a rock, knocking her unconscious. Bastjan screamed for her and ran towards her, ignoring the surprised look of the distraught cryptids—eyeing him with fury in their pupils.
"Clowee!" He screamed, passing by those monsters who wanted to catch him with lightning speed and a heart throbbing from the burning adrenaline that pushed him.
Scraped and bruised from the sharp claws and obstructions that were on his way, the boy pursued, thinking nothing but Clowee alone. And when he was right by her side, he immediately searched for her wounds and saw blood from her head, making him tremble—fearing for the worst. "Oh, please wake up, Clowee!" He said, cradling the little girl in his arms while stopping the blood from seeping more.
"Is this the phantom that sang that horrible song?" The leader of the cryptids yelled, still dazed from the singing. "I will get you, boy! I will break your bones and feed them to the beasts from hell!" He ran towards them, with every step rocking the whole place.
There was bewilderment in Bastjan's eyes—realising how truly huge he was. However, he remained unfazed by his charge, and he stood ready on his feet with a rock hidden behind him. He observed the torches and saw that one had a pile of chopped wood under it. A sly smile curved on his mouth. When the large cryptid was almost on him, he threw the rock at that specific torch, and fire instantly blazed, turning the whole place into an inferno.
"No… no!" The leader was agitated. "You fool! You will burn us all!" There was anger in his booming voice, but his fear was evident as he lost his wits with the suddenness of the whole event.
"No, only you will burn!" Bastjan retorted, striking at another nearby torch—toppling it down and letting its flame burn all those scattered volatile objects that trapped the cryptids in one place.
With the black smoke quickly hovering all over, Bastjan carried Clowee and escaped, doing his best to scour every door that hid an unknown room.
But before finding sanctuary, the leader of the cryptids emerged from the rising smoke and tried to grab the little boy and girl with his large hands. Despite their fall, with Bastjan dropping to his knees and Clowee letting out a soft groan as she nearly lost her grip on his back, the children remained resolute and stood against the heat and grey smoke that now enveloped them. "You will never catch us!" Bastjan dared, carefully settling little Clowee on his back.
"I will get you! I will eat both of you!" The leader screamed as flames now climbed to his cloak.
Once Clowee was comfortable on his back, Bastjan turned around to face the now-flaming monster and raised his cross to him, making him fall onto his feet as he screamed while his face burst into flames.
What seemed to be a haunting scene did not arouse any fear in Bastjan—not anymore. Something was growing inside his core that he could not comprehend. The sight of flesh eaten by the raging flames, the eerie screams calling out to their dead deity, and the one last plea of the dying leader of the cryptids, shouting, "This will not be the last time, boy! From my mouth—I swear by this blaze—the scent of oleander from the little girl, and she is marked! Doomed to be a jailbird on the belly of an island!" His words, resonating with the cackling of the burned wooden chairs, should have shaken the strong bones. Still, Bastjan stared with a strong scowl that was certain to be imprinted on the minds of the cryptids before death took over them.
Strongly grasping his cross, the little boy looked down at the chaos and murmured with a strong conviction, "Hell awaits you all." Satisfied, he walked away, soothing Clowee on his back.
The only saving grace for now was that amidst the agonising screams of the cryptids and the smell of burning flesh poisoning the air, they were now farther from keen eyes who still searched for them.
At last, after a minute, they had found a room. The room they entered was dark… Very dark, especially when Bastjan closed the door behind him. He did not understand the full structure, but thankfully, the door he chose led them to no other prison cell. "We are now far from the noise, Clowee." He told her, only receiving a small moan from the little girl.
As he moved deeper into the room, he realised that it was larger than he had anticipated. He stretched his hands in search of a wall or possibly a doorway that would lead them out, despite the darkness.
The little boy felt like a fool doing this…
And as he was about to lose hope, he heard this singing, echoing from somewhere.
Bastjan looked around, thinking it was one of the cryptids. Yet, the voice was too beautiful to be one of the vile creatures.
Thinking he had gone mad, he held onto Clowee's hands—clasping them as if his life depended on them. He felt her squirm, but she did not complain.
The singing was heard again, drifting along with the passing winds and smoke—a fine gold dust in grey sand. Bastjan searched for it, carefully turning, blindly looking at the dimness before him.
"I hear you… I see you now…" Clowee mumbled as her eyes weighed. She even raised a finger, pointing at something in front of them.
Bewilderment danced across his face at Clowee's comportment. He thought she was unconscious… Perhaps she was dreaming, talking in her sleep.
But following where the little girl pointed, a bright light illuminated…
And there appeared the golden bird, just as she had told him before.
Bastjan was too stunned to utter words once the bird materialised. Indeed, she was a beauty: feathers made of the finest gold, song so sweet that it soothed the pain inside, and she was glowing in flames, much like what Clowee described.
Now he felt guilty for calling her a liar. His heart melted from shame, instantly consuming him, knowing his pride and temper had brought Clowee hurt and anguish. Finding Clowee's hands that were wrapped around his neck, he held them and whispered, "I—I am… I'm sorry, Clowee…" He hoped she heard him, for it might not be easy, but his whole heart and soul meant it and swore it to Heaven.
The golden bird flew around them, continuing to sing her song. Bastjan saw the bird looking at him with calm eyes that were too familiar to him. "I think I have seen that gaze before…" He told himself, despite not knowing whether it was some hunch with no basis.
Gracefully, the bird perched on Bastjan's palm when he opened his hands. She twittered and kissed his cheeks before fluttering her wings again. The little boy let out a chuckle—glee at the calm sight of her.
"You—you are real…" There was a sense of relief exuding from his breath, savouring her magnificent feathers and the beauteous flames that came with her.
"I hear you… I feel you…" Clowee mumbled, drifting into the dreamland, seeing a glowing ball that danced around her.
Hearing her babble, Bastjan soothed her and promised that he would find a way for them to escape, in time to see his papa.
And when he faced the bird again, he could really feel—deep within the fibres of his bones—that he understood what the bird was telling him. It was as if their minds were linked together, with the bird instructing him to follow her.
Trusting his intuition, Bastjan, with Clowee on his back, followed the bird and let her lead them to where she wanted them to go.
He could not look away from the magnificence of the flying creature before him. Little Clowee was telling the truth. The little girl he loathed, called a liar, never said a single false tale when she took his hand with hope he would easily understand her. The immense guilt almost choked him, knowing what his uncalled temper brought Clowee. Down into this hellish place with wounds on her skin and in her soul; this was what his pride gave to her.
"I—I am really sorry, Clowee…" With tears forming in his mismatched eyes, Bastjan whispered with all sincerity—taking the little girl's hand and kissing her palm.
They entered through a small door, as pointed by the golden bird, and Bastjan walked firmly down a lengthy, dimly lit path, carefully bearing the unconscious Clowee on his back. Yet, despite the abysmal darkness caving in on them, the bird's flame burned brightly, illuminating the path and revealing the vibrant frescoes painted in bygone years, preserved despite the passing seasons.
And at the end of what felt like a long tunnel, light awaited them as if a lone firefly fluttering in the middle of the black night.
The golden bird's song grew louder. The pinnacle was almost an arm's length, but all of a sudden, a hand gripped onto Bastjan's foot, causing him to tumble down along with Clowee. Worry took over him as he cradled the little girl into his arms and examined whether she had gained more wounds from the fall. It was a relief that there were none, except for the groan she let out. Looking back at what had caused them to trip, Bastjan saw the burnt leader of the cryptids crawling towards them with growing fury in his eyes. "You will not leave this place without your blood being spilt!" He roared, reaching his hand to grab his leg again.
Bastjan sprang to his feet, mounting Clowee onto his back while he challenged the monster in a blind rage. "You will never catch us!" He retorted.
Witnessing the boy's plight, the golden bird flew towards him and flicked her radiant tail, manifesting a magical sword adorned with a golden hilt. Bastjan's eyes grew wide, and he prudently took hold of the sword, feeling the power that surged into his bloodstream.
The cryptid was dumbfounded by this revelation, initially frozen as he tried to find a reason…
When the boy swung the sword up, the leader of the cryptid withdrew, crawling on his belly as he tried to move away from Bastjan. However, his luck ran out when the little boy swung his sword down with steadiness and inexplicable strength; the blade slashed right down the middle, slicing the monster in half. Screams of pain and agony reverberated in the still atmosphere, rocking the walls and rough ground. Noticing the fragile state they were in, Bastjan hurried and ran towards the end of the tunnel, where the bird awaited, and said to Clowee with heavy breath, "We will make it, Clowee, I promise!"
Run…
Lungs panting as if tomorrow would never come.
Run…
With the magical sword no more, the fire of hope from the golden bird lingered at the end of the abyss.
Run…
For the unconscious little girl, who was on his back, depended on him.
Run…
Because his mother and father would always tell him, "Be a gentleman."
With the tunnel now filled with smoke and collapsed from the rumble, Bastjan and Clowee were finally out of the tragedy—though scathed but alive to tell such a tale.
The children fell to the ground after they managed to escape through an opening concealed beneath the large, intertwined roots of the white willow trees.
His sight was still cloudy once he opened his eyes. He could see a ball of light, floating above him, and knew it was the golden bird looking over them. Bastjan wanted to reach out to the flying creature, but his body was weighed down by the fatigue that now captured him. Realising the labour it would take him to communicate with the golden bird, Bastjan succumbed to the darkness and drifted into slumber, with one of his hands landing on top of Clowee's, linking them together.
The heaven was now plum, dark and dreary, for the stars remained settled as they gazed down upon the children, unconscious after all that had happened. With keen ears, you can hear a weep, echoing on the eventide's winds. The golden bird never abandoned the children, perched down in between them as she softly sang a lullaby until Pawlu and Alessandra's calls were heard from a distance. "Bastjan! Clowee! Where are you?"